The Lost Tribute
by Nepeta Speaks
Summary: Haymitch tells Peeta and Katniss why he helped them. He tells of his time in the arena and the story of his fellow District 12 tribute, the girl he loved, Anyarose. Being reworked on AO3 under "Nepeta Speaks Fics"
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**The Lost Tribute: chapter 1**

_On one of their nights in the Victors Village, Haymitch tells Katniss and Peeta why he wanted to them to win, why he made the effort to help them. Under the influence of alcohol, Haymitch reveals the story of his time in the arena, a story of his secret love for his fellow District Twelve tribute, Anya, and how he ultimately watched her die. First _Hunger Games _fic. My Gods, I love this series, so darn much. Team Peeta! :3 Please review !_

_NOTE: th__is story is partly AU, because obviously there was a different female tribute for District 12 when Haymitch was in the Hunger Games. But for the purpose of this story, we can overlook it, can't we? _

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><p><strong><em>Prologue<em>**

It was on a cold night that Haymitch finally revealed to us a little more about why he had helped us. We were sitting round the fire in my house, my mother and Prim cuddled up together, Peeta and I sitting next to each other, Gale a strong presence on my other side. I felt like I was being torn in half. Haymitch was drunk, but when is Haymitch _not _drunk? I sighed: the silence was becoming unbearable. I don't know what prompted him to begin talking, but talk he did.

"Want to know why I sobered up enough to help you two?" Haymitch asks, pointing from Peeta to myself, words slurred. He pauses, swigging from a bottle. I figure he's waiting for an answer. I glance at Peeta. "Why?" we ask simultaneously.

He takes a long pull from the bottle, and I resist all urges to just knock the bottle from his hand.

"Because I know what it's like," he says, "to lose someone you love to the Hunger Games. To the Capitol." He takes a final swig from the bottle then launches into his tale…

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><p><em>Yes, it's short, it's a brief prologue to kind of get the feel. This is the only chapter for now that I want to write in Katniss' POV. Next chapter is Haymitch's POV then third person. :D <em>

_Please review, and may the odds be _ever _in your favor! _

_Neve_


	2. Chapter 2: Haymitch Tells Of Her Name

**The Lost Tribute ch 2**

_Aren't I nice, giving you two chapters in one day? And you might get chapter 3 today too? :3 Still, don't go thinking this will be a regular occurrence, because I'm not uploading anymore until I get a reasonable amount of reviews. Anyway. This chapter is Haymitch's POV and then then we'll go onto third person completely. :D Again, this is partly AU. _

_Neve _

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><p>I don't know what made me start talking about it. The Games. My Games. And above all, <em>her. <em>Why am I talking about _her. _She's gone, but it's the drink talking when I open my mouth and address Peeta and Katniss.

"Want to know why I sobered up enough to help you two?" I ask, the words tripping out of my mouth, rolling on the alcohol like feathers on water. They exchange a quick glance.

"Why?" they speak together, curiosity beating them.

I take a big swig from the bottle. This takes courage, mind, before you start to judge.

"Because I know what it's like," I say, "to lose someone you love to the Hunger Games. To the Capitol."

I spit the last word, like it's poison and I want to fling it as far from me as possible. Sure, I was sick of kids dying, that's why I decided to actually man up and help these kids. But there's also the matter of _her. _

"Her name was Anya, and she was the female tribute from District Twelve the year of my Games. I knew her all my life," I pause, to point a shaky finger from Peeta to Katniss, "kind of like you two."

And it's true. I see myself and Anya in them, and so much more, because Anya died not knowing that I loved her. Maybe she guessed. And yeah, she died. Of course she died. They all died. I got the bastard who killed her though. I decide that hell, because I've started the story, I may as well finish it. I owe Anya that much.

"What happened to her? Anya, I mean?" Peeta asks.

Katniss gives him a look that plainly says he's just asked a stupid question.

"Aside from the obvious?" I ask wryly.

I figure it's just a story to Prim, and to Gale, and to Katniss's mother. But I figure maybe Peeta and Katniss themselves might actually relate to it. Just a bit. Remember, this is the alcohol talking. And so I open my mouth and I tell the story of Anya, of me, and of our Hunger Games, twenty four years ago. The Fiftieth Hunger Games.

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><p><em>Reviews? Please? <em>

_- Neve_


	3. Chapter 3: The Reaping of The Tributes

**The Lost Tribute Ch 3**

_Okay. The first two chapters are short. I realise. This one's longer. Please, please leave reviews. I love reviews, they're caffeine for my poor brain. :3 and, also, a couple of you have mentioned Maysilee Donner. D'you know what's great? The Hunger Games that Haymitch and Maysilee were in was a Quarter Quell, and the number of tributes was doubled. It's never mentioned the names of the other two tributes, so hey, guess what, Anya is now one of the unmentioned tributes! Yey! I'm going to say Effie Trinket is the District 12 escort still, because it never specifies how old she is. :3_

_Neve_

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><p>The crowds swallowed Haymitch Abernathy, engulfing him. At sixteen years old, he was more than eligible for the Hunger Games, in fact, he was high up on the list. His eyes searched the crowded square once more, searching, searching… where <em>was <em>she? Oh. There she was. Anya Riverstream was staring, like him, around at the crowds. Her long brown hair hung down her back in lots of thin braids, and her eyes scanned the people around her. Upon catching Haymitch's eye, Anya smiled at him nervously before her black eyes focused elsewhere. Black eyes. Not Seam-grey.

Although Anya was looking elsewhere, Haymitch found that his eyes lingered on her for just a moment longer before the Reaping began. It was the Quarter Quell, and the Capitol had decided that to _really _entertain everyone, twice the amount of tributes would be reaped. So two boys and two girls would be taken from their districts. Of forty eight, only one would come home. The Reaping would begin with the female tributes, both in a row, then the male tributes.

_Ladies first, _Haymitch thought bitterly.

"Maysilee Donner!" Effie Trinket read off the first piece of paper. Maysilee, a tall girl of about fifteen years old, stepped forward without needing any prompt. Her twin sister clung to her, but Maysilee gently prised her sister off of her, and stepped forward onto the stage. Haymitch grimaced to himself. Maysilee was a nice girl, a sweet girl. She didn't deserve this. But then again… who did? Haymitch turned his attention to Anya again. Effie Trinket's hand dipped into the Reaping ball again, pulling out the name of the second female tribute.

_Whoever it is, don't let it be Anyarose Riverstream, _Haymitch thought to himself, staring at the back of Anya's head. Effie Trinket opened the slip of paper and read it out loud.

"Anyarose Riverstream!" Effie Trinket read out the name cheerfully, and Haymitch wondered if he imagined it, but it looked like Anya had shivered. He half expected her to faint, but Anya wasn't the fainting sort. Instead she squared her shoulders and let the Peacekeepers lead her forward to the stage. Haymitch waited for Anya's sister Bluebell to shout out that she volunteered. Silence. No volunteers for either of them. But then again, if Bluebell volunteered and died, then what if Anya got Reaped again next year? That would be a waste of life.

"Our female tributes for the Quarter Quell fiftieth Hunger Games!" Effie Trinket announced, beaming at the crowd. They moved on pretty quickly after that. The first boy was not familiar or of any importance to Haymitch. Thom, his name was. Short for Thomas. He was a young kid, only maybe thirteen. And finally…

Effie Trinket's hand dipped into the Reaping ball for the last time.

"Haymitch Abernathy!"

_Figures, _Haymitch thought bitterly, _I was bound to get Reaped eventually._

He moved through the crowd to join Effie, Maysilee, Anyarose and Thom on stage. Nobody volunteered to take his place either. He hadn't been expecting them too either.

Haymitch didn't cry when farewelling his mother and younger brother. There was no way he would allow himself that weakness. His mother cried though. Of course she did. She believed whole heartedly that her eldest son was going to die.

xXxXx

In a room along the hall, Anyarose was suffering a similar situation, with her mother and sister sobbing on her shoulders. Her sister Bluebell drew back and looked at her guiltily.

"I'm sorry I didn't volunteer for you," Bluebell apologized. Anya put on a brave face.

"It's okay, Bluebell. You look after mother, alright?" Anya replied, voice wobbling a little.

Her mother straightened up and glared at her youngest daughter.

"Anyarose, you're going to come home!" her mother exclaimed.

Anya realised the full extent of her mother's grief from her tone. She never called her Anyarose.

"I'll try, mother," Anya said, because really, that was the best she could give.

Too soon, Peacekeepers barged in and ordered her mother and sister out.

"Wait." Anya's mother said, and reached into her pocket. She gave Anya a necklace, made of a sturdy silver material, long enough to conceal beneath her shirt but not long enough to strangle her with. It was also thick enough that it wouldn't break _unless _someone tried to strangle her with it. Three charms hung from it: a miniscule ball of coal, probably trodden in on her mother's boots, suspended in a little metal cage, a silver heart to represent her family, and a bow-and-arrow, entirely blunt, to represent victory.

"Wear this in the arena as your token," Anya's mother said, fixing the chain around Anya's neck, and then she was gone, Bluebell with her.

"Goodbye, mommy," Anya murmured to herself quietly, allowing herself two tears exactly before she steeled herself for the long journey ahead.

xXxXx

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><p><em>Originally I <em>was _going to write more. Like, much, much more. But, you were all lovely and reviewed for me, so you've earned this. Next chapter picks up on the train, where Haymitch and Anyarose form their alliance and meet their mentor, Perrie. I've put it that there are two mentors, Perrie and Cobalt. Haymitch and Anya get Perrie, and Maysilee and Thom get Cobalt. Anyway. Please review. The faster you all review, the faster I update. _

_Neve._


	4. Chapter 4: You and Me, Until The Death

**The Lost Tribute ch 4**

_Okay! This chapter picks up on the tribute train, with Haymitch and Anyarose forming an alliance and meeting their mentor, Perrie. Don't expect more than a few mentions of Maysilee and Thom, though. :P Please, please review for me! :D Also, the writing style has switched again, because I write in the style I think best conveys what needs to be said in the chapter. :P_

_Also, I'm looking for tribute names for a few mentions... so, when you review, tell me a tribute name and their District (I need tributes from Districts 1 - 11 except one female from 7) and the ones I like the sound of the best, I'll write in. This is NOT a SYOT (Submit Your Own Tribute), it's mostly canon, I just wanted to see what sort of tribute names y'all can come up with._

_Neve_

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><p>They don't talk until they've been on the train for at least an hour. Haymitch is sitting on the floor of his room, having changed into clean clothes and washed his hair. He's worried, gnawing at his lower lip, brow furrowed, planning. He wants to ask Anyarose to be his ally, but he's worried she'll refuse. Someone knocks on the door, and Haymitch expects Effie Trinket. He calls out for whoever it is to enter the room. Anyarose enters the room, expression blank and, most likely, mind whirring.<p>

"Hello," Anya says, sitting on the floor across from Haymitch. She's changed out of her Reaping dress, a patched, yellow dress, and put on a long yellow dress with a white ribbon at the waistline. She's left her braids in though. Haymitch thinks she looks beautiful, but can't allow himself those thoughts. "Hey," he replies to her greeting.

He's no fool – he's perfectly willing to kill people in the Games. But he'd rather not kill Anyarose.

"I wanted to talk about alliances," Anyarose says.

Haymitch is glad she's raised the topic before him, but he's still suspicious.

"Have you talked to Maysilee and Thom? Are they allies?" he asks.

Anyarose shakes her head. "No. They're both keen on doing their own thing," she says.

Damn. If all four District 12 tributes had banded together, they might have actually stood a chance. Still, two is better than one, right?

"Let's talk," Haymitch agrees to her opening statement.

"We're from the same District. I'm fast, and I can shoot straight." Anyarose tells him, and he knows straight away she's withholding her best assets from him, just to be sure.

She's right though: she _is _fast. In grade school, she used to outrun at least half of the other kids, and he's seen her throw knives before, shoot arrows. She's a crack shot. He himself is smart, cunning, he can plan their moves, and he's not bad with a knife either. Together, they might actually stand a chance.

"Alright," he agrees, "but if we get to the final six, we should split off. Agreed?"

She nods at this. "Definitely. Or, of course, unless one of us dies beforehand."

He shakes her hand, sealing their deal. Anyarose smiles sadly at him.

"I hope you survive," he says.

"I'll be watching your back," she says in response.

They sit in silence for a while, neither of them daring to speak in case their fear and anger bubbles over. Eventually, Haymitch speaks, just to break the silence. He pushes his wavy blonde hair out of his eyes and says the first thing that comes to mind.

"Do you still sing?" he asks.

Anyarose's eyes flicker to him in surprise. She wasn't expecting that, of all questions.

"Sometimes," she says, "when nobody's listening."

He wonders why. Her voice captivates everyone, and she used to be proud of it. Then he remembers her father and her brother were killed in a mine explosion. Maybe she hasn't sung since then. He feels a stab of pity for her. "Why don't you sing now?" he suggests.

Anyarose looks at him in surprise, her coal-dark eyes surprised. "Okay… what would you like to hear?" she asks, her coal-black eyes boring into Haymitch, as if trying to read his soul.

"The Hanging Tree," he suggests. It's a song from their district, one he knows she has memorized. He heard her singing it once in the Hob, spinning occasionally, like she wasn't really paying attention to anyone around her. She complies with his request, singing the old song as carefully as she can, her voice catching occasionally. He notices how her hands tremble as she sings, and it's all he can do not to pull her into a hug and try to comfort her. But he can't, because that's weakness, and although they're allied now, he can't bear to think of that day he might have to kill her, or she him.

Instead, he sits with her and listens to her singing until Effie Trinket comes to search for them to announce supper is ready.

xXxXx

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><p><em>I know it's kind of weird, but I didn't have much material to work with. Now, I wonder if you're all wondering what'll happen in the end? There were 4 tributes from each District, and in the end, Haymitch and Anyarose will ally themselves with Maysilee. The rest is kind of canon. <em>

_Next chapter will have some Anyarose POV, first person, because I want to give her character a bit more… substance… I guess. Also, don't forget, if you feel like being a part of this story, to give me a name for a tribute and their district. I need tributes from 1 - 11, (except one from 7) although this isn't a SYOT. Please remember that. Your tribute will only get a brief mention. But still... Please Review!_

_May the odds be _ever _in your favour!_

_Neve._


	5. Chapter 5: Meeting With The Mentor

**The Lost Tribute ch 5**

_Hello! Just a quick note to say I'm still taking tribute names for districts 2 – 11. (Though I only need one female (and two males) for 7 and 11). So, please let me know. Thank you to the people who gave names in – you're great! :D _

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><p>"Your mentor is called Perrie," Effie Trinket tells the older District 12 tributes as they walk down the hallway, "and he'll be along shortly. He was just talking to the other mentor, Cobalt."<p>

They enter the dining car. "Where are the other two tributes?" Anyarose asks.

Effie waves an airy hand. "In the other dining car. You've been split into two groups."

Haymitch and Anyarose exchange looks. Effie tells them to help themselves to supper, and they don't need telling twice. Despite being half-starved children of the Seam, they still managed to keep some level of manners going. Anyarose took great care not to spill food down her dress, because she'd never worn anything so beautiful in her life. Occasionally she noted Haymitch's gaze falling on her, but she put it down to her Capitol-esque manners.

"Anyarose, you have very nice manners," Effie comments, smiling at the female tribute. Anyarose returned the smile and thanked Effie politely. Haymitch immediately figured that if Anyarose got Effie on their side, they'd get more sponsors. The idle chit-chat continues for a while, though, really, both tributes are trying to get as much food down their throats as possible. The lull in conversation lasts for only a few moments before a tall man strides into the dining car. He has brown hair streaked liberally with mint green, and his eyes are green to match. His skin is pale, with the pale green eyeliner framing his eyes. He flings himself into a chair, grabs a leg of either chicken or some other bird, and takes an enthusiastic bite. He swallows and then looks up at his tributes. "Well, looky-here. Finally scored some decent-looking kids," he says, grinning.

Haymitch and Anyarose exchange looks. Is this Perrie? It must be. Anyarose offers their mentor a tentative smile. Perrie returns it. "Alright. Who've I got? Haymitch Abernathy and Anyarose Riverstream, right?" Perrie asks, playing with the scarf around his neck.

The tributes nod together. Perrie notes this: they're clearly already a team. Friends? Lovers? Relatives? He puts it down to the first two, making note of observing his tributes.

"Am I training you separately? Or together?" Perrie asks – this should give him an idea of where they're at. Haymitch answers him.

"Together is fine with me," he looks to Anyarose for objections.

"And me," Anyarose says, sipping water.

Perrie nods, more to himself than his tributes. They're not lovers, he establishes, but they want to be. Hell, they're the sort of childhood sweethearts you find in freer places.

"What're your angles, then?" he asks, gnawing on the chicken leg with a total disregard for manners. Haymitch notices this and likes their mentor immediately. Anyarose thinks he's amusing, and not as stuck up as usual Capitol people. Haymitch shrugs at Perrie's question.

"Pretend to be stupid. Outwit them. Shouldn't be too hard," he says, smirking arrogantly. Anyarose giggles quietly; she has been through school with Haymitch. She knows he is smart enough to win this way. She looks at her fellow tribute, takes in his wavy blonde hair, grey Seam eyes. Suddenly, she is glad that it is Haymitch who has come with her.

"What about you, Anyarose?" Perrie asks.

"Gain sponsors. Look innocent." Anyarose says bluntly.

Perrie takes this in, watches how his tributes talk to each other, how they assign each other speaking time. This is not a forced thing. These two have grown up together. Naturally they're allies.

"Allies, then?" Perrie decided to check.

Haymitch nods, and Anyarose copies him. Perrie takes note of this too.

"Smart idea. How long til?" Perrie asks his tributes.

"Til the final six or one of us dies," says Haymitch.

Perrie absorbs this information, casts aside the chicken leg and takes a big bite out of a piece of bread. He knows that this alliance will only break when one of his tributes is dead or dying.

"Well then. Let's get planning!" he says, enthusiastic.

Anyarose and Haymitch exchange glances before they comply with their mentor's request.

xXxXx

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><p><em>Shorter chapter for y'all this time. I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I've been super busy and yesterday I was feeling really bad and relapsed into my negative mindset, so I couldn't write much at all, much less update. So, I hope this keeps you going til my next update, where we meet Anya's stylist Apple (weird Capitol names ahoy!) and Haymitch's stylist, Posy. Apple is a dude, by the way. Okay. So. I'm still looking for names for tributes from 2 – 11. But I only need 1 female for 7 and 11 as I've already gotten one each for them. :D I still need dudes for those 2 though. <em>

_Please review! It'll cheer me up greatly. _

_Neve._


	6. Chapter 6: The Stylist & The Sweethearts

**The Lost Tribute ch 6**

_Hello? Hello? Anyone there? *sigh* you all seem to have deserted me. :( _

_Well, that's cool, guys, I'm just going to casually update and see who's still out there. Whatever. _

_Neve._

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><p>It takes them less than two days to get to the Capitol. Haymitch strategizes with Perrie and Anyarose, prowls about the train, and hits things. He knows the Reaping is purely about odds, but he can't help but think Fate is laughing at them right now. He and Anya have been sucked into the Games, thrown about and shaken up, and there's nobody there for them, to say <em>stop. This is madness. <em>Just like all the other Tributes for the past fifty years. Even Perrie is helpless to save them. At best he can save one of them, but there's also Cobalt's duo. Haymitch will not ask Perrie to focus on saving Anya. He knows Perrie will save whoever he chooses as the strongest survivor.

They arrive in the Capitol and are ushered off the train by Effie Trinket and Perrie. They're taken straight to the Remake Centre, where they're separated for the next couple of hours. Anya's stylist is called Apple. He's a tall, thin guy with hair dyed green like apples to match his name. His eyes are green too, and he wears artfully ripped denim trousers and a sky-blue shirt patterned with clouds. His eyes are outline with bright silver.

"Where's your Reaping dress?" Apple asks Anyarose.

"On the train," Anya says. She hopes she isn't in trouble for leaving it behind. Instead Apple just grins at her. Apple drags her through to meet her prep team. There's a guy with electric blue dreadlocks who introduces himself as Marko, and then briskly gets to work un-braiding her hair. Next, there's Nita, a young woman with waist-length purple hair and matching plum lipstick. She paints Anya's fingernails gold and chatters away about the upcoming tribute parade. Finally, there's Marigold, a tiny little thing, almost as small Anya herself. Marigold is the epitome of Capitol fashion. Her whole body is dyed a pale gold, and her hair a mixture of bronze and white. She smiles at Anya serenely as she paints her face. Four hours later, Anyarose looks totally different. Her hair is loose and wavy down her back, her nails painted gold, and she's wearing silver on her eyes, with black lipstick. Apple dangles a long garment bag over one arm and a woven basket full of coal over the other.

He helps her dress in the content of the garment bag, which turns out to be a pretty black dress over a jumpsuit. Over that goes an apron which looks reminiscent of the sort of apron type overall that Miners wear. Anya looks at the outfit in the mirror.

"Apple, you _actually _made the whole Coal Miner thing look _good!" _she whispers.

"You like it then?" Apple asks.

Anyarose nods. "Thank you Apple."

He grins. "It's my job, darling."

Apple takes Anyarose down to the stable, where Haymitch is waiting with his stylist, Posy. He's wearing a black jumpsuit too, and over it, Coal Miner's overalls and headlamp. Anya shoots him a grimace. Posy, a woman with pale purple skin and shiny black hair, notes the grimace.

"Hey, we didn't have a lot to work with!" Posy protests.

The District 12 tributes exchange looks. Posy's right.

"Sorry. You both did great," Anya says. Posy looks a little mollified.

They climb into the chariot, Haymitch first, and then he helps Anya up. In the chariot ahead of them, Thom and Maysilee are dressed similarly, Thom in a Coal Miner outfit like Haymitch, and Maysilee in a dress like Anya. Maysilee waves at Anya and then drops her hand. They cannot afford to be friendly. Apple fusses around the chariot, mumbling to Posy who moves just as fast in the opposite direction. "Now remember, you're a team!" Apple says.

Haymitch and Anyarose exchange looks but don't question it.

"Seriously, do as he says. Perrie says you're childhood sweethearts," Posy encourages.

Haymitch scowls. "Did he tell everyone in the goddamn Capitol?" he asks.

Apple shakes his head. "Just us. And your teams."

Anyarose notices Haymitch's annoyed expression. "If he's just put a target on our backs…" Haymitch snarls. Anya grabs his hand.

"Stop it. There's two of us. Sure, the Career pack will be bigger, but we can take the others out." Anya lowers her voice to a barely audible whisper and Haymitch relaxes a little, shooting an apologetic look over his shoulder at their stylists before the chariot begins to move. They're not meant to look like allies, but in the tense environment, where everyone's going to know sooner or later, why hide it?

Hand in hand, the elder tributes from District 12 emerged from the stable into the long Capitol Street, all around them a cheering, shouting crowd. The crowd throws flowers at every district's tributes, but Anyarose manages to catch one. She tucks it through the strap of her dress.

"Ready?" Haymitch asks.

"Huh?" it takes Anya a moment to realise that he's talking about their linked hands.

"Ready!" she tells him, smiling. Together, they lift their joined hands into the air, making the crowds roar their approval for the united tributes of District 12. Well… half the tributes anyway. The chariot moves forward, and they stand united; the childhood sweethearts of District Twelve.

xXxXx

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><p><em>So, I'm trying to draw a parallel. Because Haymitch knows playing the lovers card keeps you alive, which is why he encourages it in Katniss and Peeta. Errmmm… yeah. That's all. I don't need tribute names anymore. doctorHolmestuck and I worked them all out! :D<em>

_Neve_


	7. Chapter 7: A Target On Their Backs

**The Lost Tribute ch 7**

_Thank you to those reviewers who are still reading this. I apologize for my ratty mood, it's just that same douchebag from before is giving me crap again. I think I mentioned this douchebag way back when I was writing _The Deal. _Basically he's an attention seeking loser who has nothing better to do than bully people. He's a self-proclaimed sexist homophobe, which is why I call him a douchebag. So. Really, I don't feel like doing much because of this loser. Writing's all I have to keep myself from going bonkers. So. Here you are. Chapter seven. I hope you all like it, and will leave me a review or two. I'm really keen to explore the pre-arena relationship between Haymitch and Anya. *squee* also, today I bought a Mockingjay pin! :D one final thing: don't worry about submitting tribute names anymore. DoctorHolmestuck and I worked them all out. :D Sorry for the short chapter. I'll put chapter 8 up later today for you to make up for it. :D_

_Neve_

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><p>Anyarose and Haymitch clamber down from their chariot. Apple and Posy are there, and Perrie stands to one side. "Great job!" Perrie grins.<p>

The Careers are glaring, annoyed at the praise. Anya has to rack her brain to try and remember their names. One of the boys, Conquest, is glaring right at them. He's a big guy, brawny, blonde, green-eyed in more ways than one. He's standing talking to a blonde girl who has to be his sister: she has the same green eyes and blonde hair. Haymitch is sure the girl is called Stardust. Stupid, materialistic, shallow names. Perrie notices the Career twins staring.

"C'mon. let's take this upstairs, hmm?" Perrie suggests.

The tributes follow their mentor without complaint.

xXxXx

"What. The _hell_ was up with the unity?" Perrie asks as soon as they're up on the twelfth floor.

Anya and Haymitch shrug; they don't know why they've chosen to be a united front.

"It was my idea," Apple says calmly, lying through his teeth. Admittedly he did tell the tributes to be a team, but he wasn't expecting them to do so. But still, he knows what Perrie's like, and he knows how apathetic he can be. He knows if he doesn't lie, then the tributes will face Perrie's annoyance, which could potentially mean no sponsors.

"Your idea?" Perrie rounds on Apple.

"And mine," says Posy, "we thought it would look good, make them look stronger."

Perrie scoffs. "Pfft. If anything, you two have just put targets on these two's backs."

Anya can't stand the looks of horror on Apple and Posy's faces.

"They didn't tell us to," she tells Perrie, "we chose to."

Perrie looks like he's willing to hit Anyarose at that moment. Haymitch casually moves so Anya's behind him and then grabs her hand and leaves, taking Anya with him.

"Nice one, Perrie. Good to see you can keep your temper under a lid," says Effie scornfully.

Perrie claps a hand to his forehead.

"I just want them to be safe." He says, a look of shame upon his face.

xXxXx

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><p><em>Okay, so Perrie's kind of an asshole. It's because he wants his tributes to live so badly, anything that jeopardizes that really annoys him. Perrie's a great guy deep down, but he's got a lot of flaws because he's so used to seeing his tributes die. He's Capitol-born as well, so it's even more of a failure for him each time his tributes die. Anywho. Next chapter is all about the training! Woo! <em>

_Please review!_

_Neve_


	8. Chapter 8: Confessions & Allies

**The Lost Tribute ch 8**

_Hello! Here's chapter 8 for you all. I've been getting a couple of questions, mainly: _has my tribute name been used? _Or _are you continuing your _Sherlock _stories? _Just thought I'd publicly answer these as well as by PM just in case anyone else was wondering. To the first one: if you've submitted a tribute name for me to use, then chances are I've used it. If I haven't, I'd have let you know. I only got given a handful, and I used them. All other tribute names were created by myself and doctorHolmestuck, who gave in some weapon suggestions and told me what each weapon does. Onto the next question: yes, I _will _be finishing those Sherlock stories at some point… but I'm not putting an exact date on when. So please bear with me. Anyway. Apologies for the long author note again… (haha) I'll shut up with my rambling and get on with the story. _

_Neve_

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><p>Training. Anya had been both looking forward to it and dreading it.<p>

"You'll be fine," Perrie told them as they took an elevator down to the training floor.

Haymitch reassuringly took Anya's hand in his own. "You'll blaze this, sweetheart," he said confidently. Anya turned to him, burying her face in his shirt. She didn't want to be here anymore. She wanted to be home in District 12, hungry and busy, rather than here with a full stomach and an almost certain death sentence. _Alright. Cut the whining, _Anya told herself sternly.

She stood up straight, determined to look strong as they entered the training room. As they entered the training room, it became clear to the District 12 tributes that they were one of the last few groups of tributes to arrive. Maysilee and little Thom were nowhere in sight. Stardust and her brother Conquest from District 1 were standing with the other two from their district: Shimmer and Carrow, and they were joined by 2's tributes: Marble, a tall guy with wavy brown hair, Chisel, a brawny guy with close-cropped black hair, and the two girls, Jayde and Potsulina. The eight Careers turned to stare at the older tributes from 12 as they walked in, hand in hand. Anya sneaked a glance at Haymitch from the corner of her eyes. He was glaring right back at the Careers defiantly. Atala gave out the usual speech of what best to train with, and then everyone was released to do their own thing. Haymitch headed straight away for the climbing exercise. He noted that Anya skipped that one and went to the camouflage station. When he'd successfully cleared the climbing station, he went to join Anya.  
>"Why haven't you gone for the knives?" he asked in a low voice.<p>

"I can't show them my best strength now, can I?" Anya muttered in response.

Haymitch grinned at her. "That's my girl," he said smugly, watching her turn her arm into a leaf pile using paint.

"Careful they don't hear you," Anya said mildly, though he could tell she was pleased by his calling her his girl. Haymitch grinned at her. "Try the climbing when you're finished," he suggested, and then moved off to the weights. Anya finished her painting, admiring the leaf pattern, and then watched Haymitch for a moment. He was very strong, that was obvious. The Careers looked at him with a little less scorn now. Anya's greatest strength was her speed and aim. Back home she'd once ventured into the forest with Bluebell in search of food. Anya had chased after a deer, catching it mid run, swinging herself onto its back and killing it swiftly with her hunting knife. As long as she could get hold of a knife in the arena… she'd be fine.

Still. She had better be sure she could climb. Carefully setting down her paintbrush, Anya sauntered over to the climbing ropes. One of the girls from District 11 offered her a small smile and moved over so Anya could climb up beside her.

"Hi. I'm Scarlett Sometimes," the girl from 11 said, "rotten luck being reaped, isn't it?" she continued cheerfully. Anya winced internally. Here was a girl who _really _wasn't going to be able to kill anyone.

"I wanted to be a nurse, you know. I guess that's going out the window. I know I'll probably die on the first day." Scarlett said matter-of-factly. There was no sadness in her tone. She sounded very accepting. Anya shook her head, looping her feet through the net so she was sitting beside Scarlett.

"Maybe not," Anya said, turning to look at the girl from 11. She was small and thin, like Anya herself, with square glasses and tightly curly red-brown hair. Her skin was tanned and her green eyes surveyed Anya for a moment.

"Maybe you'll win?" Anya offered.

Scarlett shook her head, corkscrew curls bouncing. "Oh no, not me. I won't win. I'm too small. It'll be one of the Careers as usual. Or you or your boyfriend," said Scarlett. A pause, the she continued, "I hope it's you or Haymitch."

Anyarose sighed. "If you take the _I'm going to die _attitude straight out, then chances are it'll happen. At least, that's what my mentor says. I don't know how true that it," Anya told her.

Scarlett laughed. "My plan is to hide," she said.

Alarm bells rang in Anya's head. She could _hear _Perrie telling her: _don't trust her. _

"I don't really have a plan," Anya lied.

They sat watching the others for a moment.

"It sucks," said Scarlett eventually, "under different circumstances we might have been good friends. Don't you think?" she pushed her glasses back up her nose, and Anya realised that Scarlett was probably only twelve or thirteen.

"Yeah. I think we might," Anya agreed. Silence for a minute.

"Did you have any family back in 11?" Anya asked.

"My mother, my aunt and my cousin. Everyone else from my family died years ago. I gave my cousin my songbird," Scarlett told Anya, voice wobbling a tiny bit, "I volunteered for my cousin. She's only twelve."

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen. Just."

Anya was so appalled by the situation that she couldn't even reply. Scarlett swung her feet out of the net and began to descend the net. "See you around, Anyarose," she said in her matter-of-fact way as her feet hit the floor. Anya gave her a little wave and then swung her feet out of the net, dangling upside down for a moment before she scaled the net and landed on the floor just as the gong signalling the end of the day's training sounded.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Anya spun around to find Haymitch standing there, holding out his hand to her. She took it at once and they left the gym together.

"I saw you talking to the little one from 11," Haymitch said as they emerged into the long hallway.

"Huh? Scarlett? Yeah. She's alright, I guess, but I don't know whether she's trustworthy."

Haymitch considered this. "From what I've seen, I would kill her when you get a chance."

"She's just a kid!" Anya protested.

"She's shifty. You said so yourself," Haymitch replied.

"We're _all _shifty!" Anya retorted.

"I don't care. I will _not _let you die just because of some kid. You could take her out with one swipe." Haymitch exclaimed as they got into the elevator. Anya ignored him.

But by the time they'd reached floor twelve, Anya had forgiven him. Haymitch was right: it would be stupid to trust anyone. She was sure Scarlett would kill her in her sleep at first chance.

"We don't need allies," she told him as they left the elevator, "right?"

"Right," he confirmed, "as long as we have each other we'll be fine."

Anya nodded and they started down the hallway to the big open room where Perrie, Apple and Posy would no doubt be waiting.

"I guess so," Anya agreed with him as they entered the room.

As expected, Perrie, Apple and Posy were waiting for them. Posy had obviously re-dyed her skin the lilac shade she usually kept it, and her glossy black hair was curled neatly. Apple looked stressed, his usually flawless hair messy, like he'd been running his hands through it. Perrie looked much the same.

"How'd it go?"

"Anya's made a friend. Of sorts," said Haymitch.

Anya glared at him. "Thanks for dropping me in it," she muttered angrily.

He shrugged. "You're welcome sweetheart. Let's see what Perrie thinks of Scarlett, hmm?"

Perrie absorbed this brief, sharp discussion. "Scarlett? As in Scarlett Sometimes of District 11?" he asked. Anya nodded.

"Haymitch says I shouldn't trust her."

"You shouldn't. But keep an alliance with her, by all means. She cried on the train on the way up, apparently. Her greatest asset is staying hidden. You could dispose of her easily, if you felt so inclined to do so." Perrie said indifferently.

"She's a little _kid, _Perrie. I cannot kill a kid," Anya exclaimed.

"This is why I worry about you, sweetheart," Haymitch said sadly, pressing a kiss to Anya's temple and then disappearing into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Anya stared after him before turning to their mentor and stylists.

"What does he mean?" she asked, and Perrie rolled his eyes as though addressing a small child.

"He loves you, Anyarose, as you love him. We're not as stupid as we look," Perrie said ruefully.

Anya's eyes widened. "He loves me? It's not an act?"

"No, it's not an act," Posy said, "and it's killing him inside that you might die in the Games."

Anya stared at them for a moment. _He loves me… and I love him… but we're tributes… _

"Oh my God," she whispered, and fled the room, rushing down the hallway and knocking on the door to Haymitch's room.

Perrie watched her go with a sarcastic expression on his face.

"_Now _the penny drops!" he said sarcastically, helping himself to whisky.

"You shouldn't have done that," said Apple ruefully, "now they're both likely to die trying to protect each other," he said.

Perrie took a long swig of whisky.

"Believe you me, mate, if she dies he's not going to want to come out alive. And vice versa." Perrie said bitterly, flinging himself down on the couch.

"Typical. The one year I get a pair of fighters, they're in love with each other," he added.

Posy looked as though she wanted to slap Perrie.

"Is that all that matters to you?" she asked furiously, "whether your tributes come out top? Do you even see them as people?"

Perrie laughed bitterly. "You're one to talk, aren't you, Posy? You make them look nice before they go off to slaughter."

Posy made an odd snarling noise. "At least I treat them like people."

Apple rolled his eyes and kept out of it. He was sick of Perrie's attitude, but he wasn't stupid enough to try and reproach him.

"Pfft. People? They stop being _people _the moment they get on those trains," said Perrie disdainfully.

Posy really _did _slap Perrie that time, her long, magenta nails leaving nice claw marks on his face.

"What the _hell_, woman?" Perrie roared, rubbing at his face, which was slowly trickling blood.

"I was born in the districts. Or have you forgotten? My brother _died _in the Games that got me this job. My little brother. He was twelve. And I couldn't volunteer for him because I had a broken leg at the time." Posy said furiously.

Perrie shrugged. "What care I which district you come from?"

"Because I'm trying to point out your biases, Perrie. You look at me now, and you wouldn't be able to tell I was once a little girl from District 8."

Perrie shrugged, drained his glass and wiped the blood off his face.

"I need some air," he said, and swaggered off, slamming the door behind him.

Posy, in a very un-Capitol like moment, threw her wineglass at the closed door, where it slammed.

"That's why our tributes die every damn year!" Posy said to Apple, sinking down onto the couch that Perrie had just vacated, "because the Mentor is a Capitol jackass."

Apple nodded glumly. It was true. Being Capitol-born, Perrie had been raised to look down on those from the Districts. Tributes _weren't _people to him. But to Posy, who had been born and raised in District 8, and Apple, who was a naturally caring person, the Games were an abomination.

"I hope one of them wins this year, so we can get rid of Perrie," said Apple sharply.

Posy nodded her agreement, and then half-heartedly reached for her sketchbook. Apple copied her, and the two stylists worked in silence, hoping their tributes were working on a plan.

xXxXx

"Haymitch? Haymitch! Will you open the door? Please?" Anya pleaded for what had to be the fiftieth time. A growl from inside the room, and then the door swung open.

"I thought you were acting…" Anya managed to say, before Haymitch pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately.

Anya was shocked for a moment, and then responded.

"I love you, Anyarose," Haymitch told her quietly.

"I love you too, Haymitch. I always have…" Anya replied.

In response to that, he pulled her closer and kissed her again.

xXxXx

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><p><em>Alrighty! :D <em>

_Established 'ship ahoy! I'm going to cover the rest of training and the individual training sessions next chapter. I want Anya to ally herself with Scarlett, because I visualize her as being a useful ally to them. So, thank you _JadeSaturday _for the name and district of that character. :3_

_Next chapter there is implied-aftermath-of-lemon, because I don't write explicit stuff anymore. :) I'll give you a couple of lines of the chapter as a bit of bait to get you to review!_

A kind of heaviness hangs over the whole District 12 team that morning. Everyone knows that Anya and Haymitch are in love, but that they're doomed, and it hangs over the team like a lead weight. Anya is silent as Marko brushes out her hair, and Nita keeps trying to hide her tears. Even Marigold's eyes are watery.

"It's not like we're in the arena yet," says Anya.

But that doesn't matter. Because soon, they will be. And Anya's team knows they'll never see her again. She's made it plain that if he dies, she will die with him. The prep team don't see that love in the Capitol, where everything is superficial, and it breaks their hearts that these two young people, who have so much to live for, are soon to die for their own amusement. Suddenly, the Games don't seem so brilliant.

_Okay. So it's more like a paragraph. But still. Please, please review! (I may write a slight lemon if enough people ask me to!) Also, yes, Perrie's an ass. _

_Neve._


	9. Chapter 9: Hit Me Once, I Hit You Back

**The Lost Tribute ch 9**

_Hello! Hooray for chapter nine! You guys actually get an update on time, because I'm not where I'm supposed to be at the moment because of the moron I keep mentioning. :( _

_Still, more time for Hunger Games stuff, hey? :D this chapter is not lemon, sorry. :c I know I said I might, but I'm just not okay with it… anyway. I'm glad you all agree that Perrie's an asshole. Sorry to say he becomes even more of one this chapter. :C _

_Warning for mild violence._

_Please review! :D_

_Neve_

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><p>The first thing they hear the next morning is Effie Trinket knocking loudly on the door to Anya's room down the hallway. "Anyarose, <em>please, <em>don't make me go get Perrie," Effie says.

Anya swears quietly, shifts out of Haymitch's arms, removes her hand from his grasp, and then reaches for some clothes. She puts on her shorts and then puts on the shirt Haymitch was wearing yesterday. He rolls his eyes at her, but grins his approval. Anya tips him a wink and then pushes open the door and steps into the hallway. He throws on some sweatpants and follows.

"I'm here, Effie. Sorry," Anya apologizes.

Effie whirls around, wide-eyed. Anya stares back innocently.

"What were you doing?" Effie asks, and then notices Anya wearing Haymitch's shirt as a dress, "never mind. I _don't _want to know."

Anya grins. Effie looks positively livid.

"Will you two _please _go and put your training clothes on? It's nine-thirty, and you need to be downstairs by ten!" Effie looks close to tears now, she's so frustrated. Her voice echoes down the hallway, most likely waking the prep teams.

Anya looks instantly guilty and apologizes to Effie before heading down the hallway. She doesn't get very far before a door opens and Perrie strides out, looking dishevelled and angry.

Anya tries to duck out of the way, because she remembers how he looked ready to hit her a couple of days ago. She doesn't move fast enough. Perrie grabs her arm and yanks roughly, so she's facing him. "Think you're being clever, kid?" he growls.

Anya is starting to wonder why on earth Perrie ever became a mentor.

"ANSWER ME!" he roars in her face.

Anya, to her credit, doesn't shake or cry. "I've done nothing," she tells him clearly.

"You two think you're being clever, with your lover act. It's just going to get you killed. So don't stand there, smiling at me like you've got a chance, because I tell you now, kid, you're going to die." Perrie snarls, and before Anya can register what's happening, he's slapped her hard across the face. Like she's not a person. Like she's an animal.

The left-hand side of her face burns as Anya blinks, her vision hazy. Perrie's bigger than her – he's at least six foot four, and she's only five three. Naturally, a slap would hurt. Anya's vision comes back and she's aware of Effie standing beside her, tugging her out of harm's way. Haymitch is there too, the concern on his face quickly turning to fury as he turns to Perrie.

"You can't just go slapping your tributes about!" he shouts furiously.

Perrie raises an eyebrow. "If she can't even react to a simple slap, how's she going to win her fights in the arena?" he asks slyly.

Haymitch scowls.

"That's what I'm here for. Bit like now really," says Haymitch, and before anyone can stop him, he's punched their mentor square in the face. Perrie slumps to the ground, unconscious.

"Get your training sweatpants," Haymitch tells Anya harshly.

She nods, and hurries off. She returns a few moments later wearing her training clothes. Haymitch is waiting for her, wearing his training shirt and some sneakers with his sweatpants. He grabs Anya's hand and checks her over.

"Alright to train?" he asks quietly.

"I have to, else they'll see me as weak," she replies.

"Take it easy though," he presses a kiss to her forehead and turns to Effie, "you keep _him_," he jerks at thumb at Perrie, "out of our way."

Effie looks completely dumbstruck, but the tributes don't hang around.

xXxXx

Haymitch trains full-on that day. It's his intent to keep Anya protected in the arena until their alliance ends, hell, until he's dead. He keeps a watchful eye on Anyarose as he lifts weights. She's at the camouflage station again, the little girl from Eleven standing next to her. They're painting companionably, the instructor looking pleased with their work, offering the odd tip here or there.

When the gong that signals lunch sounds, Haymitch replaces the weights and goes to snag Anya's hand. "Oh-hi," Anya greets him with a smile, "Scarlett here was just teaching me how to paint bark on your arms," she informs him.

The little girl from Eleven smiled at Haymitch nervously, and then made to scarper.

"It's okay. If you don't hurt Anya, then I won't hurt you," Haymitch says seriously.

Scarlett holds out her hand for him to shake. "Then I guess you won't be hurting me."

The trio walk to lunch together. When they get to a table, away from the Careers, Anya wonders if today will turn out alright somehow. Until…

"Hey, Twelve!" Stardust from One calls across the room.

Four people, Thom, Anya, Maysilee and Haymitch look up.

"The little one with black eyes," Stardust's brother clarifies.

Anya looks into the laughing eyes of the Career twins.

"What?" she asks somewhat aggressively. She will _not _be intimidated by the Careers.

"Is it true your Mentor laid into you? I heard your escort telling Atala," says Stardust.

Anya glances at Haymitch and knows automatically what he wants her to say.

"Well, sure. But Perrie's the one out cold, not me, so I guess I'm fine," Anya says with a little shrug. Stardust looks disappointed that there's no room for further mockery, and promptly shuts up.

"Did Perrie _really _hit you?" Scarlett asks in a hushed whisper.

"Yeah. Well… it was more like a slap…" Anya clarifies.

Scarlett looks horrified. "I hope you win, so you can replace him," she tells the tributes from Twelve.

xXxXx

Perrie avoids them for the rest of the day, and he's nowhere in sight as the two elder tributes head down to their private session with the Gamemakers the next morning.

"I'm sure he'll turn up," says Effie nervously, as they leave.

"Doubt it," says Haymitch coldly.

They are last to go in for the individual training. Little Thom is the first from their District, and his session doesn't last long at all. Barely five minutes later Maysilee is called. She stays in there for at least fifteen minutes before Haymitch is called.

He kisses Anya and then disappears into the gym. Haymitch throws some weights around, hits a target square on with a dagger, and then throws a knife with such force that it decapitates the dummy. The Gamemakers watch him with interest. He takes a mock bow and then leaves, eager to wait for Anya.

Anya is left alone, trying not to bite her nails and chip her nail varnish. She sits there, knees drawn up to her chest, for at least half an hour, before she's called in. Squaring her shoulders, Anya goes into the gym. The Gamemakers are watching her with polite interest. They want to know if the girl from 12, who is involved with the older boy, is any good with weapons.

Anya climbs the net first, hanging upside down to demonstrate her acrobatics. She leaps from that net to the one along and scales it, using a rope to slide back to the gym floor. She ties a dummy to the rope and sends it swinging around the gym. The Gamemakers watch in bemusement as the little girl from Twelve with the black eyes that hold such depth selects a knife. They watch her tuck the knife into her belt and run faster than they believed possible for someone so small. They watch as she leaps onto the dummy's back and mimes the cutting of a throat.

She drops off of the dummy's back, replaces the knife, and takes a bow. She is dismissed and scurries off to find Haymitch.

xXxXx

"And then I jumped on it and mimed cutting its throat," Anya finishes telling her story to the team. Apple and Posy are grinning. Effie looks mildly impressed, and Haymitch is proud. Perrie is sitting there, smoking a cigar, sporting a bruised face and black eye.

"Good work, kid," he grunts, and turns the TV on.

They're broadcasting the scores.

"District One," Caesar Flickerman begins, "Shimmer; 8. Carrow; 7. Stardust; 8. Conquest; 7."

_They're called Careers for a reason_, Haymitch thinks bitterly.

"District Two. Marble; 4."

"FOUR?" Perrie interrupts, guffawing, "Looks like he won't be the Victor!"

"Chisel; 6. Jayde; 6. Potsulina; 4." Caesar finishes for District Two.

Haymitch grins at Anya. "Looks like the Careers aren't all that prepared this year."

Caesar begins with District Three. "Digit; 5. Pixel; 5. Circuit; 6. Mecha; 6."

That's nothing new. The ones from Three never score majorly high.

"District Four: Fin; 4. Ampora; 6. Meena; 7. Carvah; 4."

There are some _really _low scores this year. Haymitch wonders if he and Anya might actually stand some chance.

Electra, Fission and Vulcan of District 5 all score a six. Volta of 5 scores an 8. The team from Twelve are all amazed at a non-Career scoring so high.

The scores go on and on. Anya remembers only two from Six through Ten, and that's Rein, a girl from District Six with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. The other she remembers is a girl from Seven called Sissia. Anya wouldn't stand with her back to her, and she doesn't want Haymitch anywhere near her. She knows instinctively that it is Sissia to take down.

Little Scarlett from District 11 scores a seven. Anya applauds, and Haymitch joins in.

"Allied?" Effie asks.

"Of sorts," Anya says, sneaking a worried look over at Perrie. Perrie ignores her and takes a long drag of his cigar. Anya scowls.

"Finally, from District Twelve…" Caesar begins.

Cobalt, the other mentor for Twelve, a small woman with cobalt-blue hair and eyes, taps her foot impatiently.

"Thom, a score of five," Caesar begins.

Thom doesn't look too fazed by this. "A low score's good, right? It means they won't target me?"

Anya nods to calm the boy, digging Haymitch in the ribs with her elbow before he contradicts her.

Thom relaxes a little.

"Maysilee Donner, a score of seven." Caesar reads.

They all applaud Maysilee, who grins sheepishly.

"Haymitch Abernathy, a score of… _eleven!_" Caesar reads out.

The shouts and cheers that fill the room almost threaten to drown the noise of the TV.

Anya kisses Haymitch and congratulates him.

"Finally, Anyarose Riverstream, a score of… _eleven._"

Disbelief fills Anya for a moment, and then she's being enveloped in a hug from Haymitch, and they're both laughing and at the same time trying not to scream, because being given the highest scores will surely make them targets. But it also means they have an advantage: sponsors will flock to them. Even Perrie grins and congratulates them, though Anya knows he's angry that there's now a target on their backs. She resolves to play totally innocent for her interview tomorrow.

* * *

><p>xXxXx<p>

_Hi everyone!_

_Next chapter is interviews! :D_

_Please, please, please leave me a review. Because poor Neve is upset again, and reviews make me happier. _

_Love, _

_Neve. _


	10. Chapter 10: The Interviews

**The Lost Tribute ch 10**

_This story has hit double-digits! :D :D_

_I'm so happy about this. Well, here is the interview chapter. Please review!_

_Neve._

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><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

I still remember Anya's interview with Caesar. She wore a dress, pale yellow like a star, that fell to her knees and swished when she walked. She wore bright gold heels with the dress, taking great care not to trip as she walks on stage to Caesar. I'm waiting off stage, it's my turn last. Caesar kisses her hand and she greets him sweetly, waving at the audience.

That's my girl. Winning over hearts is what she _does. _

"So, Anyarose, how do you feel about the Games? Are you nervous?" Caesar asks.

Anya bites her lip. "I'm looking forward to the Games, yes," she gives a little laugh, "but I can't afford to be nervous!"

Caesar chuckles good naturedly. "No, I suppose not," he says.

The audience laughs too, then Caesar continues.

"What about your District Partner? We've seen a lot of unity there, borderline romance. Care to elaborate?" he asks with a grin.

Anya bites her lip again, suddenly looking dangerously close to tears.

_Damn, _I think, _she's going to be honest. Like me. Crap. Hope this doesn't impact our chances._

"Take your time," Caesar says gently.

Anya takes a deep breath, "Well… there isn't much time for love, is there? I mean, what if we end up being the last two?" she says, her voice catching.

She has just expressed my worst fear.

Caesar makes a sympathetic noise.

"What about the years before the Reaping that brought you here?" he prompts.

I hold my breath for a moment.

_Come on, sweetheart, tell him the truth. Win us some sponsors, _I plead.

"We've kind of been together…" Anya says, "since we were children, really."

A collective sigh runs through the audience.

"How romantic," Caesar gushes.

"Very," Anya agrees, "we were childhood sweethearts."

Another '_awwwwww_' from the audience.

"So, what are your thoughts on your District Partner now? Have your feelings changed?" Caesar asks, "and what will happen, if, god forbid, you get separated and he dies?"

Anya hesitates for a moment, takes a calming breath, and then answers.

"I still love Haymitch, so, so much. And if he dies, I will die too." Anya says with conviction.

Her time is up, and Caesar wishes her luck. She thanks him and exits, waving at the audience as she does so. She clatters down the stairs in her golden shoes and I pull her into an embrace before I have to go on stage. She topples into the hug offered by Perrie when I have to let go of her.

"Well done, kiddo," Perrie says.

I don't trust the guy, but I have to go on stage, and Anya looks safe for now. I walk on stage, into the blinding lights. I mimic Anya, waving at the odd audience member here and there, and shake Caesar's hand.

"So, Haymitch, what are your thoughts on there being one hundred percent more competitors than usual?" Caesar asks me.

"Well, I don't see what it matters. They'll still be a hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds are roughly the same as normal," I say snarkily.

I hope my snark is making Anya giggle. It sure makes the audience and Caesar laugh. Caesar waits for the laughter to die down before he continues.

"So, obviously, we've heard Anyarose's take on your doomed relationship. Have anything to add?" he asks me.

I pause. Anya was honest, so it's time for me to be too.

"When I was a kid, I used to think, if we never get Reaped, I'm gonna marry this girl. Guess that won't be happening now," I say with a shrug.

My statement earns us more sympathy from the audience. Good. More sponsors means more chance of our survival.

"Haymitch, tell me, despite your predicament, do you still love Anyarose?" Caesar really doesn't seem to realise what a personal question he's just asked.

I look right at the camera, because I know Anya's backstage watching this on-screen.

"I always have, and I always will. I will _die _protecting her if need be." I say strongly.

Caesar asks a few more questions, and then I'm dismissed.

I walk offstage, searching for Anya. She's there, waiting for me. Perrie gives me a thumbs-up, but I ignore him. I have eyes only for Anyarose. She's looking at me in shock and joy at my words; not only have I declared that I love her publicly; I've declared it to the entire nation. I give her a moment, and then I pull her into my arms and kiss her like I'm dying.

There are no cameras here. This isn't for show. We have been a unit since we were children. We will enter the arena as one.

* * *

><p><em>Short chapter, I know. :C<em>

_Still, I gave you a longer one, so don't be hatin' please!_

_Love,_

_Neve. _


	11. Chapter 11: Launch Day

**The Lost Tribute ch 11**

_Alrighty. Looks like it's Launch Day! :D Oooh, I'm so keen to write this chapter! I'm writing it in Anya's POV, because I think it'll give her a bit more depth… :)_

_Please leave a review, and go check out my Katniss/Haymitch story… _

_Neve_

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><p>It's Launch Day. The day I've been dreading for the past eight days.<p>

I don't want to leave this room. I want to stay right here, in this peaceful fairytale Haymitch and I have created. I've tangled in the blankets of this ridiculously fancy room, wearing Haymitch's shirt as a dress to sleep in. We returned from our interviews last night and decided that we may as well become one whilst we still had the chance. I didn't want to die a virgin, and I love him so much…

We're lying there together, one of his arms wrapped tight around me, holding me close against his bare chest. His other hand is linked with mine. We are, for all intent and purpose, trying to shut out the world, and shield each other from the inevitable.

"Haymitch," I whisper, "If I die today…"

The hand on my back goes to my hair, soothing and comforting.

"You're not going to die," he informs me softly.

Empty words. Empty words designed to stop me from falling apart.

We watch the sun rise, and I think I start shaking, because he holds me close and whispers that he'll protect me, he'll die for me if he has to.

That wakes me up a bit. "If anyone dies for anyone, it'll be me for you," I say.

We stay in bed as the sun rises, holding each other, shutting out the world, kissing and exchanging whispered murmurs of love and affection. When the clock on the nightstand reads Seven AM, we're forced out of our bubble of seclusion and serenity by my stylist.

Apple at least has the decency to knock before he opens the door and my prep team crowd the room. Marigold offers me an apologetic smile, but Nita bursts into tears when she sees us and has to run off. Marko waves at me. Haymitch's stylist, Posy, and his prep team are also there.

Posy pushes through the crowd of preps, but she bursts into tears too when she sees us curled up together. I figure the best thing to do is leave with my team, to calm this all down a bit. I kiss Haymitch once more, our last kiss before we launch, perhaps. Maybe even our last kiss ever. Then I follow Apple out of the room, offering Posy an attempt at a brave smile. I think I fail, because she cries harder.

We get to the prep room, me still just wearing my underwear and borrowed shirt/dress.

My prep team all seem to have developed colds, because they sniff a lot as they get to work on me. Marigold strips the chipped gold paint off my nails and paints them sky-blue instead.

"I'll paint clouds on them when I'm done," Marigold tells me.

Nita does my makeup today, keeps it simple and natural looking. Marko braids my hair into hundreds of thin braids, like how I had it back home, before the Reaping. I sit quietly in my shirt/dress, and speak only when spoken to. I listen to my prep team's chatter, although even they seem a little sombre. Apple comes in with something in his hands. It's a little box. He hands it to me. "Will you wear this in the arena?" he asks, and instantly my hands fly to my neck. The chain that my mother gave me is still there. I touch each charm reverently: the coal in the cage, for home. The heart, for family. The bow-and-arrow, for victory. I don't intend to go home. If anyone from Twelve survives, it has to be Haymitch.

Apple is still looking at me. Oops. He wants an answer.

"Sure," I say.

He opens the box and shows me what's inside. It's a handful of thin ribbons, the color of my hair, each one to be braided into a braid of my hair. On closer inspection, each ribbon has a name embroidered on it in gold thread. I read each name before Marko starts to wind them into my braids.

_Apple. Marko. Nita. Marigold. Posy. Effie. Haymitch. Bluebell. Jodie. Patrick._

I wonder how Apple found out that my mother's name is Jodie, and my late father's was Patrick.

"I'll wear them. Thank you so much," I say, and I truly mean it, "but won't I get told off? I already have a token?"

Apple grins at me. "These aren't tokens, princess. These are reminders of who you have to live for."

Marko winds each ribbon into my hair, so that if I pull on one of my thins braids, lifting it to my face, I can read the name in gold.

I feel oddly safe and comforted, sitting quietly, surrounded by my prep team, which is mad, because in a few hours' time, I'll be in the arena, and most likely never see these people again.

That, surprisingly, upsets me a little. Just a little, mind, because I can't allow my mind to be clouded.

Marko finishes my braids, and ties them back off my face with another black ribbon, striped with gold. I wonder if the gold is everyone's names, but don't check.

My prep team, one by one, grasp my hands and kiss my forehead, then file out. Apple passes me a garment bag which holds my Arena Outfit.

It's a pair of black pants and a black shirt, with black lace-up boots. No jacket. I change quickly, passing Apple my shirt/dress from before. He dumps that and the garment bag on the chair I've vacated.

"Let me get a good look at you," Apple says, and I twirl for him.

"Beautiful, princess," Apple says, and there are tears in his green eyes. It hits me then just how much I like Apple. He's like the big brother I never had.

"I'll come home, maybe?" I say to him.

He doesn't answer. He knows I'm lying.

"I'll see you in your launch room, princess." Apple says, and he too kisses my forehead and then vanishes. Perrie and Haymitch enter my prep room, Haymitch dressed in an identical black outfit. Haymitch draws me into his arms and presses a kiss to my temple.

"You look so beautiful," he murmurs.

Perrie, who, to my knowledge, looks clean of whatever illicit substances he uses, mimes vomiting into a potted plant. We ignore him. We're used to our Mentor's drug habits and general ass-hattery. I still haven't forgiven him for that slap. I don't think he's forgotten it either, nor will he do so in a hurry. He still has a black eye.

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><p>xXxXx<p>

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><p>Haymitch grips my hand in the elevator, though I don't know if that's to reassure me, or himself. Perrie decides to give us some last minute advice.<p>

"Don't go to the Cornucopia unless it's vital. And I mean seriously fucking vital," Perrie says, his voice a slurred mess. He's not drunk, but that explains that pill he took before we got into the elevator. So much for staying clean.

"How vital is vital?" Haymitch asks.

Perrie shrugs. "You tell me, kid."

Haymitch looks about ready to punch him. I squeeze his hand and he relaxes a bit. Perrie doesn't say another word, just watches us board the hovercraft. We snag seats next to each other, and sit hand-in-hand, sizing up our competition. Little Scarlett sits on my other side, and she gives me a cheery wave. The Careers all sit together too, and a woman moves down the line with a _big _needle. I hate needles.

"Give me your arm," the woman says to Scarlett.

"Why?" the little thirteen-year-old says, brows raised, "what are you putting in my system?"

The woman sighs. "It's your Tracker."

Scarlett holds out her arm. I'm next. I hold out my arm and shut my eyes. After a short stab of pain, my arm feels fine. There's no track of the tracker aside from a faint glow for a couple of seconds.

Haymitch squeezes my hand, and the hovercraft takes off. We're flying.

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><p>xXxXx<p>

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><p>When we arrive at our destination, we're all forced apart, taken to our separate Launch Rooms. Before we disembark the hovercraft, Haymitch kisses me once.<p>

"I'll see you in the Arena," he whispers.

"Not funny," I whisper back.

He smirks. "Stick with me, alright?"

"Like glue." I assure him, and then two Peacekeepers are leading him in one direction and me in another.

Apple's already in the Launch Room, waiting for me.

"Did Perrie give you any smart words?" he asks. I think he's being sarcastic.

"The usual," I reply.

Apple scowls. "That's why Tributes always die," he mutters flatly.

"Don't worry. Haymitch and I have a plan," I say, smiling.

We sit and talk for a few minutes. When the woman's voice over the intercom tells me to step onto my metal plate within sixty seconds, Apple tears up again.

"I'll come home, maybe," I say, lying through my teeth for him.

He grins at me, swiping at the traitor tears. "Don't lie, princess, it ruins your angle," he grins, kisses my cheek, and then lifts me onto the metal plate. This should annoy me – I'm not weak – but I find it oddly comforting.

"Haymitch would kill you," I say, smirking.

Apple laughs. "I'd gladly fight him for your heart, princess," he says simply.

The glass has lowered, so even if I had words to say, I couldn't say them. Instead, I held the three middle fingers of my left hand to my lips then held them out to him. He returns my gesture just as my metal plate begins to move.

For fifteen seconds I stand, disorientated and in total darkness, mind reeling. Apple loves me. I think. But I can't focus on that now. I touch the braid containing the ribbon with his name embroidered on it. _I'll make you proud, _I think to myself.

Sunlight bombards my vision. Ugh. It's so bright! I'm nearly at ground level.

I squint as the plate rises into the arena.

Finally, the plate stops moving and the glass is gone. I open my eyes and take in my surroundings in wonder. The arena is beautiful. We're in a meadow, with lush green grass, yellow flowers, blue sky, and a shiny gold Cornucopia in the middle. Each of us, the forty-eight of us, are standing on a metal plate, equidistant from the Cornucopia. To my delight, Haymitch is next to me. He glances over at me.

_My hand. Run, _he mouths to me.

_Deal, _I mouth back.

I count down in my head.

_5_

_4_

_3_

_2_

_1_

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Fiftieth Hunger Games begin!"

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><p>xXxXx<p>

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><p><em>I thought this was a good place to leave this chapter. The idea of Apple loving Anya kind of bombarded me at the last minute… Poor guy. *sob*<em>

_Reviews would be lovely. _

_Neve._


	12. Chapter 12: The Quell Part One: Burrow

**The Lost Tribute ch 12**

_Hi there. Yes. Hello. The sole purpose of this AN is for me to express how irritated I am at the obscene lack of reviews! D: So, I'm (most likely) not updating this after this chapter _until _I get 2 more reviews. Maybe. I'm getting annoyed, because I keep getting all these alerts and hits to this story, but nobody seems to be bothered enough to leave a review. So. No reviews = no updates. _

_Love, your bad-tempered author._

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><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

The gong sounds and I stand there, utterly frozen, for about ten seconds, before someone seizes my hand and forces me off the metal plate. I lift my hand, most likely to hit whoever it is, then I realize it's Anyarose. She doesn't pull me in the direction of the forest though, so I blink hard and focus on what she's angling at. There are two large, black backpacks lying mere feet away from us. We're fast, even linked together, so we reach them easily. We have to let go of each other to sling the backpacks over our shoulders. When I right myself, I notice Anya's disappeared from my side.

I curse myself in my mind. I shouldn't have let her out of my sight! I look around for her, and see her darting back to me with two knives in her hands. She passes me one and then I snag hold of her hand. Together, we run for the forest. Something whistles through the air and lodges into a tree as I pull Anya out of the way.

We sprint for it, and nobody seems to be following. Huh. Of course not. The careers won't bother with us til later. Right now, they're too pre-occupied with the bloodbath. We're in the shelter of the forest now, still running. We don't stop running for a long time, at least four hours. Finally, we're forced to stop. Anyarose trips, twisting her ankle, and tumbles over, slamming into me. We crash to the forest floor, Anya on top of me. If we were anywhere else, I'd have laughed and made a crass remark, but because we're a couple of hours run away from people who want to kill us, there's really no room for that sort of thing. Anya looks a little dazed, eyes all wide, and she has to blink real hard a couple of times before she comes into focus. She looks embarrassed.

"Oops," she mutters, blushing the color of the pink roses we saw in the Capitol, and she shifts off of me, only to examine her ankle and curse softly.

"Is it broken?" I ask.

A broken ankle means certain death.

"Don't think so," she says, prodding her leg, "just twisted."

We take a rest to examine our backpacks. They're heavy, and upon closer inspection we discover why. Each pack contains at least eight litres of bottled water, two weeks' worth of food, a pair of night-view glasses, and a thick blanket.

"I wonder why they've provided all this food?" I say out loud.

Anya's hobbling about the clearing, examining plants. I hear her mutter something in reply.

"What?" I ask.

"I said, _poison,_" Anya says, turning back to me.

"What? All this?" I gesture at the contents of our backpacks. She shakes her head.

"No. All the berries and fruit and stuff here. Even the water. That's why they've provided all this," she says, dumping the contents of her own backpack onto the floor.

"I reckon we can make this all last at least a month if we have to," I say.

Anya agrees with me. We re-pack our backpacks and tie our knives to our belts. On closer inspection, mine's a hunting knife, and Anya seems to have a thin, lethal looking dagger.

"Good for throat cutting," says Anya cheerfully, though her cheer doesn't meet her eyes. I take her hand and lead her through the forest. We can't run anymore, because of Anya's foot.

"Haymitch," she says, as it grows dark.

"What?" I turn around, and she's got this look on her face that makes me want to shut out whatever she's about to say.

"Seriously. Leave me here. Keep going." Anya says, and she's glancing around, looking for monsters, or mutts, or Careers, I guess.

I raise an eyebrow at her. "No way," I tell her flatly.

She rolls her eyes. "There can only be one winner, sweetheart. May as well be you," she shrugs, and sits down, leaning against a tree.

I scowl at her. There's no way I'm leaving her behind.

She leans back against the tree, using her hand to brace herself, and nearly falls backwards.

"What the - ?" she scrambles away from the tree and reaches into her pack for her night-vision glasses. "Haymitch! Look at this!" she whispers.

I hurriedly put my own glasses on, because I hear the hope, the pure, ringing _hope _in her voice.

The tree trunk she's leaning against is massive, and the ground around it solid as a rock. And yet, in a small area, the ground dips, and there's a hole in the tree trunk, leading to an underground shelter with dirt 'walls'. I scramble down first, knocking on the dirt and the tree trunk. It's solid. I'm crouched down on all fours, and I _think _you can't see us from ground level.

"Anya," I call out in a low voice, "can you see me down here?"

The sounds of someone scrabbling about. "Nope," she says, "and I can cover the opening too."

She throws my backpack down to me, followed by hers. Then she wriggles through the hole in the trunk and lands with a thunk on the dirt floor.

We're about two foot below ground, in a big hollow tree trunk. It's not the best idea ever, but it's a _lot _safer than sleeping in a tree. You can hear all sorts of animals – mutts, more likely – scrabbling around out there. From our hidey hole, we can see the sky, which is great. It means we don't have to venture out of the hideout to see who's dead or not.

We find there's a side pocket to our backpacks, containing a box of water purifying tablets, some dried plums, a roll of bandage, and a box of painkillers. I motion to Anya to take off her boot. She does as I say, though she gives me a questioning look. I bandage up her foot as best I can. When I look up, putting the bandages away, Anya's smiling at me. I get out the blankets and wrap my arms around her, covering us with the blankets. It's suddenly gotten very cold. We eat some dried beef, and watch the sky, sipping water. Final, the Capitol seal appears, followed by the Anthem and the images of _eighteen _dead Tributes. _Eighteen. _Among them is little Thom from our district. I feel Anya tense up in anger when she sees that. But I know she's watching out for Maysilee and that little girl from Eleven. When they don't appear, she relaxes. Day one and thirty of us left. The Gamemakers are probably having a field day.

xXxXx

Night has well and truly fallen when I quietly suggest sleep. Anya nods her agreement, and we curl up next to each other. I check to make sure nothing's visible from ground level before I settle down next to her, though. A scratchy hoot of an owl – or perhaps something more sinister – makes Anya flinch. Automatically, I reach for her in the darkness, wrap my arms around her, draw her close to my chest. She's warm, and she smells like home. One of my hands goes to her braids, feeling the silk ribbons tied into the odd braid or two here and there. With my night-vision glasses, I can make out words written on the ribbons. "What do they say? The ribbons?" I ask her in a whisper.

"Names. Of who I have to live for," Anya whispers back.

Sure enough, there's the names of her parents, her sister, and a couple of our 'friends' from the Capitol. My name's there too, on the braid that rests over her heart. That makes me smile a bit.

Before we got Reaped, I always thought I'd marry her one day, if we survived the Games, or if we came back a Victor. I'd always betted on us getting Reaped separately, or never at all. I hadn't ever considered we could get Reaped together.

"I used to dream about us," Anya's voice floats through the darkness.

My arm around her tightens a little. "Yeah? What do you mean?" I ask quietly.

She sighs and I wonder if she'll bother telling me.

"Just about our future. I always used to think, you know, if we didn't get Reaped…" Anya says.

"About us. Together?" I pick up her sentence where she left it.

"Forever," she finishes.

I can't help it, I lean down and kiss her until she's breathless.

"We can still have that," I tell her.

She smiles at me, laughing softly, humouring me. I take off my night view glasses and watch her fall asleep on me. I wonder if she's dreaming about the life we could have had together.

I push that thought out of my head and let sleep take me.

xXxXx

**Anyarose**

When I open my eyes, it's at least late afternoon. My head is resting in Haymitch's lap, and he's leaning against the dirt 'wall' of our hideout, eating a handful of dried plums. When he sees that I'm awake, he offers me some food, which I gratefully accept. I sit up, swig some water from one of the bottles in my backpack, and eat my plums. My twisted ankle feels much better, and a good sleep always helps too.

"I'm going to look for food, and more weapons," Haymitch tells me, "and we should move on at dawn tomorrow."

I nod my agreement at the _move-on-at-dawn _bit, but I am confused by the food-and-weapons part.

Haymitch merely gives me a kiss and tells me to make a cover for the hideout whilst he's gone. He leaves me then, and I'm not going to lie – I was afraid. It's still cold, so I wrap the blanket around myself and use my dagger to whittle off long strips of flexible bark from the inside of our tree. It's not an easy task, and I have to venture out of the tree and climb it to scrape bark from the upper branches for the outside cover of the 'door'.

I scramble back down the tree, bark under one arm, swing back into the burrow, and get back to work. It takes me a few hours, and it's early evening when I've finished. About twenty or so minutes after I've finished, though I can't be sure, Haymitch returns, crawling into the burrow, face ashen and knife blade bloody. He has a pocket full of throwing stars too, which he dumps onto the burrow floor. My eyes are drawn to the knife blade like a moth to a light, though.

"Who?" I whisper.

"One of the boys from Seven. Blackthorn, I think his name was," Haymitch is shaking as he answers. I knew he was capable of killing if he had to, but I think the first kill is always the worst. I wipe the blood off the blade with a piece of spare bark, and pull him into my arms, drawing comforting circles on his back with my fingers. I hold him close as he shakes, the brave boy from my childhood who became the brave man I love dissolving before me.

"I'm no better than them now," he says bitterly. He's talking about the Careers.

"That's not true, Haymitch," I tell him, "That boy would have killed you."

I know it's not the best thing to say, but it's the only thing I _can _say. I reach to brush some of his wavy hair out of his eyes, and find his grey Seam eyes fixed on my own black eyes.

It doesn't matter to me right now that Panem is watching. Let them watch. Let the whole world watch and scream out at how _wrong _this is, for two sweethearts to be stuck here, in hell, with no way of the two of us surviving. Haymitch's arms wrap around me, and he's kissing me, a deep and passionate kiss that reminds me of the nights we spent making love in the Capitol. He's looking for a way to forget, this much I know. I would be happy to die, right here and now, but just as I'm thinking this, I hear a dull thud from outside. We break apart and reach for our weapons.

Haymitch crawls out of the burrow, and I hear him give a muffled exclamation. Panicking, I peer out of the burrow entrance and realize everything's fine. Haymitch is dragging a silver parachute towards me. "You alright?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say weakly, "Just give me a moment to restart my heart."

He grins and shoves the parachute through the burrow entrance, then jumps down after it.

"What's Perrie sent us, d'you reckon?" Haymitch says as we open the parcel.

It turns out it's a loaf of bread. We already have food, but warm bread always goes well with dried beef. We have a feast, though I can't help but consider the underlying message. It's simple, really. Perrie doesn't have to send notes; his message rings loud and clear to both of us, though Haymitch doesn't mention it.

One kill equals one good meal.

xXxXx

**Haymitch**

I wake before dawn and pack all of our stuff up, easing the blanket off of Anya slowly, trying not to wake her. Unfortunately, she sits bolt upright, reaching for her knife. I grab her wrists and shush her. She realizes it's only me, and then zonks right back out again. Goddamn. I figure I may as well let her sleep til dawn. Me? I haven't slept much, 'cause every time I close my eyes, all I see is that damn fool from District Seven, the boy with the throwing stars. _Why _he had throwing stars is beyond me. He threw one at me from behind a tree, and when I ducked, he came out to make sure he'd killed me. I'd struck him down before he could even raise his hand to throw another star. I was the only one awake to watch the sky last night. There are twenty five of us left.

Dawn comes and I shake Anya awake, getting a mouthful of abuse for my trouble. I grin at her, because I was under the impression my sweetheart didn't cuss. She seems to realize that's why I'm grinning, and so she passes me a handful of food and tells me to shut up or she'll make me shut up. I put the day's rations into my pocket and ask her exactly _how _she'll make me shut up. She demonstrates by kissing me til we're both breathless.

"That's how," she says, swinging her pack over her shoulder and crawling out of the burrow. It's a shame to leave the place, but we have to move along. We can't hide away together, else the result will be we have to kill each other.

We walk all day, barely speaking. We don't have to speak, and, more pressingly, we don't know what to say to each other.

xXxXx

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><p><em>Alright. Review, and I'll post the next chapter. Come <em>on _guys, it's not hard. :c _

_I think I'm going to give this story a wicked twist, and then let Anya be killed (or taken away and Haymitch being _told _she was killed) by the Capitol…_

_Eeheeheehee_

_Love,_

_Neve. _


	13. Chapter 13: Allies and Victors

**The Lost Tribute ch 13**

_Oh-hi! Thank you _so _much for the reviews! :D That made my day. And so, here's your next chapter as promised. :3 This is the last chapter covering their Games. Now, there is a twist! (eeeeheeehee) which comes into play because of the double amount of Tributes. I also have an idea about Anya being taken by the Capitol but Haymitch being told she's dead. This kind of fits in with canon, because the Capitol killed his girlfriend. I want Anya to be alive, though. Ehehe. This is the last chapter covering their Games. So. Enjoy. And for the love of all that's good in Panem, please review. _

_Neve._

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><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

We walk for a couple of days, watching the skies by night. On the fifth (or perhaps the sixth) day in the arena, Haymitch deduces that there's only twelve of us left. It's around that time that the announcer, Claudius Templesmith, speaks to us Tributes directly. Haymitch and I shut up and listen, because there's only twelve of us left, and because an announcement means something good.

"Attention, Tributes, attention," Claudius Templesmith's voice booms out across the arena, "In light of the doubled number of Tributes, and in honour of the Quarter Quell, it has been decided that the number of Victors should double as well. Attention, Tributes, there may now be two victors from separate or the same District. That is all."

The voice fades out and Haymitch and I stare at each other before he pulls me into his arms and kisses me feverishly. We can go home! The two of us could go home!

Our victorious moods are cut short the next morning though. We hear footsteps, and Haymitch motions to me to climb a tree. "I'm not _weak_!" I spit the last word at him.

He shoots me a look that promises death if I don't comply, and he passes me a couple of throwing stars. Grudgingly, I take the stars, and climb a tree. A few moments later, Haymitch is joined by three Careers. Conquest and Carrow from One, and Chisel from Two. I watch, unable to do anything, as Haymitch kills the first one, Chisel, with a quick slash to the throat. Unfortunately for Chisel, Haymitch never did learn to cut throats properly. It's going to be a slow, agonizing death for the boy from Two. Haymitch fights off the second Career, Conquest, struggling a lot, but finally slashing him fatally across the neck and chest. He dies instantly. The third boy, Carrow, sneaks up on Haymitch and manages to steal his knife. He's just about to cut his throat, and I'm just about to throw a star at the boy from One, when he drops to the ground, a poison dart buried in his neck. I drop from the tree and run to Haymitch. I land heavily on my already fragile ankle, but that doesn't matter. Out of the trees steps another familiar face. It's Maysilee, from our District. Haymitch wipes the blood off his face with the hem of his shirt, and then warily looks at Maysilee. My hand inches towards my knife. There's only nine of us left: Maysilee, Haymitch, myself, the girl from Seven (Sissia), Scarlett, the girl from One (Shimmer), a girl from Five called Volta, and two others.

"We'd live longer with three of us," Maysilee says.

"Guess you just proved that," says Haymitch, grinning ruefully.

"Allies?" I suggest, which I regret as soon as the words are out of my mouth. There can only be _two _victors. Having Maysilee along makes that difficult as hell for us.

"Sure," Maysilee says, smiling at me. We move on, keep walking, following Haymitch.

"Where's he going?" Maysilee asks in a whisper.

I shrug. "Don't know. Trust him."

Maysilee shoots me a look that tells me she's not stupid enough to trust _anyone _in these Games, and then teaches me how she made the poison darts. Haymitch rolls his eyes and mutters something about _women and their gossip, _which prompts me to slug him on the shoulder. Maysilee laughs at us, and then her expression turns sombre.

"It's never fair when a practically married couple gets Reaped," she says serenely as we settle down behind an uprooted tree for the night.

Before we can protest that, however, a cannon booms in the distance. The two other Tributes whose names I didn't remember from before hover in the sky that night. I learn their names are Chariot, a girl from Six, and Circuit, a boy from Three. Seven of us left.

Haymitch and I exchange glances. We are meant to split off at six. Well. We _were _until they said there can be two Victors.

No more is said.

We sleep.

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><p>xXxXx<p>

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><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

I didn't want to take on an ally. I don't count Anya as an ally – Anya's my life – but Maysilee Donner… she is nothing. Just a girl from the town back home. Saying that, she _did _save my ass, and so, because of that, I find her trailing us through the forest. She knows that if it comes to it, I'll kill her to get Anya and I home safely. Maybe she'd rather die by the devil she knows rather than the devils she doesn't. AKA, the Careers.

I have to think hard about who's left. There's seven of us, that's for sure. The three of us, Anya's friend from Eleven, that makes four. A girl from One. Then there's a girl from Seven, and a girl from Five. Anya's training with the throwing stars when I wake up. There's a dull _thud _as each star hits the tree, and a muffled cuss word as Anya removes them. Maysilee's making more darts, though her eyes keeps darting to Anya. I assess the situation and realize Anya's in no danger – Maysilee's worried about whether one of those stars are going to lodge in her torso.

Me? I've been thinking about the hell that is the arena. There's gotta be an end to it somewhere, right? Maybe there's something we can use.

Anya notices that I'm awake as she climbs down from the tree.

"Hey, sleepy," she says. I give her a lazy grin, and she kisses me good morning.

We walk on.

"Where are we going?" Maysilee asks.

"Doesn't matter," I say.

So she stops and leans against a tree. "I'm not going any further," she says.

I scowl heavily. Anya's annoyed too. "The arena's gotta end somewhere, right?" I say.

Maysilee shrugs, like _what are you expecting to find?_

"Maybe there's something we can use," I add.

Anya nods in agreement with me and Maysilee shrugs. "Alright," she says.

We walk on. It takes us all day to walk to a sufficient camp. A cannon booms once. Anya shares her food with Maysilee, which is pretty damn generous of her. But Maysilee looks like she hasn't eaten for days. Maybe she hasn't.

"The rainwater isn't poisoned," she informs us as we settle down. The sky lights up. Only one dead Tribute today; the girl from Five. Volta.

"Scarlett's still out there!" Anya tells me, eyes wild as she turns to me.

I shake my head. We can't afford to have another tag-along. I know Anya wouldn't be able to kill the little one, and she'd hate me forever if I did it. It doesn't matter though, because I get a nasty surprise at dawn.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

I'm woken by someone carefully prodding me. I reach for my knife and bolt upright, and find myself staring at a girl with tanned skin, dark eyes, and reddish brown hair. Scarlett.

"Scarlett!" I whisper, and I pull the little girl into a hug. She's injured, covered in cuts and bruises, and her right hand is bandaged up with a Capitol bandage. Immediately I give her a painkiller and change her bandages. She's not doing too well. The cut on her hand is bright red, and by the purple flecks, I'd say poisoned.

"What happened to you?" I whisper.

"The girl from Seven. She's got a poisoned dagger." Scarlett whispers back.

I stare at the little girl, who's shaking a little. I reach for a blanket and wrap it round her shoulders.

"I'm going to die soon," Scarlett says, "but I wanted to see you one more time. Thank you for being my friend, Anya."

I think I cry then as I tell her it was no problem, but that she's not going to die. Scarlett laughs at me, says I'm a fool, and blinks heavily.

"You have to win, Anya. You and Haymitch. You have to win."

I promise her that we will, though there's still five of us, if you don't count Scarlett.

"Sissia, that's the girl from Seven, she's slow. Get Haymitch to distract her," Scarlett whispers.

I nod, because that sounds plausible.

"What about the girl from One?" I ask.

"She has an axe." Scarlett tells me, and then she's convulsing and I'm begging her not to die on me, screaming that it's not fair, waking Haymitch and Maysilee in the process. All my begging and crying doesn't save her though. Scarlett dies in my arms.

A cannon booms.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

Anyarose is inconsolable for the rest of the walk. We reach the edge of the arena by midday. Anya sits on a rock and says nothing. Maysilee surveys the area for a moment.

"That's all there is, Haymitch. Let's go back now," Maysilee suggests.

I shake my head. "Naw. I'm staying here," I say.

Maysilee shrugs. "Alright. Well. There's five of us left. So. I guess I'll be off. I don't want it to come down to the three of us."

I bid her farewell, and Anya quietly says goodbye too.

Maysilee leaves. I throw a rock down the pit, annoyed. I'd been expecting more. The rock bounces back up, nearly smacking me in the face. I laugh.

"Anya! Look! It's a force field!" I turn to Anya and find her staring in amazement. Her eyes have this hollow look, and I wonder if she's still thinking about the little girl from Eleven. It's likely.

I test the force field again til I'm sure I know what it can do. It's around about then that the screams start. Anya and I glance at each other. "_Maysilee," _we say in unison.

Our alliance with her is broken, but she's from our District. We can't abandon her.

We tear down the hill and arrive just in time to see the last of a flock of bright pink Mutt –birds flying off. They've stabbed Maysilee in the throat. She can't speak, there's blood everywhere, staining the perfect green grass blood-red. Her eyes tell us all we need to know: we _have _to win.

Anya grabs one of Maysilee's hands. I hesitate, then grab the other. We sit with her as she dies. A cannon booms.

"Four left." Anya says quietly, "us. District One, and the girl from Seven."

I nod, taking this in. "We need to stay close to the force field," I say.

Anya seems to understand it's the best weapon we have, and so she agrees. We leave Maysilee's body lying there, though Anya crosses the dead girl's arms over her chest and makes the familiar District Twelve goodbye sign at her. I hesitate, then copy her.

We're barely halfway up the hill when another enemy springs out of the bushes. She's tall and thin, with a lot of long, brown hair and the brightest green eyes I've ever seen. Sissia, from District Seven.

"Time to come out and play, District Twelve," she says in a sing-song voice.

I draw my knife.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

Sissia's preoccupied with taunting Haymitch. He has his knife drawn, and she's twirling her poisoned knife – or is it a short sword? – between her fingers. I can't let that blade touch him, else he'll die.

I sneak around them as they circle. Sissia lunges at Haymitch, he blocks her, landing a solid punch square on her jaw. Her head snaps back, she's dazed, but she lunges at him again. Her knife slash misses by inches. Suddenly, I'm furious. This is the girl that killed Scarlett, an innocent little girl. This girl wants to kill my beloved. I cannot let that happen. I _will not _let that happen.

I wait til their fight gets out of control. Sissia's losing her grip on her knife, because Haymitch has managed to cut her hand open. She drops the knife, trying to staunch the blood flow. I sneak up on her, and just as she bends to retrieve her knife, I leap at her, pull her head back, and swiftly cut her throat. Haymitch leaps out of the way to avoid the jet of arterial blood the sprays forward.

I honestly feel like I'm going to throw up, but Sissia's dead. The cannon booms to announce this. There's three of us left. Just three.

The first kill _is _the hardest. The sounds of our fight has alerted the girl with the axe to our whereabouts. She comes lurching out of the forest, axe swinging. It's Shimmer. I get a jolt of twisted amusement when I remember Haymitch killed her brother.

Haymitch shoves me out of the way – fool. Always the protector.

The fight is long and bloody, but he manages to tear one of her eyes from its socket. I really am in danger of throwing up then, but the girl, furious swings the axe and it hits Haymitch in the stomach. He turns and bolts up the hill to the force field, holding his intestines in. The girl follows, with me following swiftly after.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

They say the human intestines stretch for two miles. That's not a theory I want to be testing. I sprint (at least, try to sprint) up the mountain to the force field. Shimmer's close behind me, though she's got a potentially fatal wound too. Where's Anya? I get a glimpse of her behind Shimmer, but she's powerless. The deaths of Scarlett and Maysilee, and her kill of the girl from Seven has rendered her incapable of wielding a weapon.

I reach the top of the mountain, and fall to my knees. I think I'm convulsing, though I can't be sure. The girl, Shimmer, stops before me, grinning triumphantly. She only needs to kill me. She'll let Anya live, because of the dual victor rule. But wait. The force field. I grin at her.

"Go ahead," I smirk.

Shimmer does. She throws the axe, and I duck. The axe whistles over my head. Shimmer gives a snarl of frustration. I stay ducked, and Anya, realizing what's going to happen, ducks down too. The axe comes whistling back, and lodges itself in the girl from One's head. A final cannon booms.

Then Anya's there, pulling me into her arms, and she's screaming for someone, anyone, to hurry up, and can't they see I'm dying?

I'm dying?

Huh. That's nice.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

We're declared the victors of the Fiftieth Hunger Games and Second Quarter Quell. Haymitch is convulsing in my arms, and I start screaming abuse again.

The hovercraft appears moments later, and hoists us both up. I don't stop screaming, because they separate us both, rushing him into emergency surgery, and locking me inside something that looks like a launch tube. I beat my small fists against the glass for a couple of minutes until a familiar face appears. Perrie.

"Kiddo, if you don't want them to stick you with a sedative, you need to pipe down," he advises me, letting me out of the tube. I collapse onto my mentor, still sobbing but not as hysterical.

"He's gonna be fine, kiddo," Perrie assures me, "but the President wants to see you, so go get cleaned up."

He leads me to a small room in the hovercraft, where Apple is waiting for me.

"Well done, Princess," Apple says, pulling me into a hug. He cleans me up a bit, fixes any deep cuts and scratches, then helps me change into a long, navy blue dress with a peter pan collar.

"Why does the President want to see me?" I ask.

Apple shrugs and passes me some shoes.

Perrie comes in. "Time to go," he says.

Apple gives me a thumbs up. I grin awkwardly and follow Perrie.

We're in the President's mansion, and are led down lots of long, winding corridors. Finally, I'm shown into the President's private study. He's sitting behind his desk, white rose in his lapel and a pleasant smile on his face.

"Congratulations, Miss Riverstream," he says, and motions for me to sit down.

I sit. "Thank you, Mr President."

Snow surveys me for a moment. "That was clever of your lover to use the force field as a weapon."

Something about his tone makes me choose my next words very carefully.

"It was. But I presume it was not allowed?" I say.

The President smiles at me sadly. "I'm afraid not, Miss Riverstream."

"Don't kill him. Please," I blurt out.

Snow shakes his head. "Of course not. But Mr Abernathy must be punished."

I raise an eyebrow. "What are you going to do to him, Mr President?"

Snow crosses his fingers in front of him, and thinks for a moment, though I know he's already decided.

"His mother and brother are already dead. I saw to that a few hours ago."

My jaw drops. "No. Not Annabelle and Joseph!" I gasp.

Haymitch's little brother was only six.

"Now, then. What to do with you…" Snow ignores my anguish at the deaths of Haymitch's family.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask.

Snow shrugs. "I considered it. But you're a victor. You earned your life. So no. Instead, you're going to disappear. Haymitch and the rest of the world will believe you're dead. But instead, you'll be working in the Capitol."

_Working. In the Capitol. I have to play dead._

"Working as what?"

"Your stylist, Apple, is keen to take on an apprentice. That will be your placement until you are trained. Then you will become a stylist for tributes from Districts One through Eleven," says Snow.

That's not too bad.

"Will I ever be allowed to go back?" I ask, my voice shaking.

Snow smiles. "You will be set free only when a Tribute volunteers from your home District."

I scowl. That'll never happen. In Twelve, the synonym for _Tribute _is _corpse. _

"When do I have to 'die'?" I ask.

Snow shrugs. "The victory tour will occur two weeks from now. You will start in District Twelve, and make your way to the Capitol, where you will stay. Haymitch will return to Twelve under the impression you are dead."

I nod, tears falling freely now. We've won, sure, but we are to be separated forever in just two short weeks.

"Thank you for your leniency, Mr President," I say eventually.

Snow smiles at me. "Needless to say, Miss Riverstream, after you are separated, if you try to contact Mr Abernathy, you _will _be killed."

"Yes, Mr President." I say.

I'm allowed to go, and they take me back to the hovercraft, where I'm informed Haymitch has just woken up from surgery.

I shove past Apple and Perrie; I'll tell them my fate later; and crash my lips to Haymitch's, relieved to feel his strong arms around my small frame as he kisses me feverishly.

"Sweetheart. Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, kissing me again.

"You're alive," is all I can manage, the tears pouring down my face again.

"Well, no shit, sweetheart. You're not getting rid of me that easily," he says, grinning.

I think I sleep then, curled up next to him in the hospital bed.

When I wake, they've moved us to the Capitol. Haymitch is in the room next to mine, I'm told by Perrie, who seems off whatever illicit substance has him hooked.

Apple comes in, and I figure it's time to tell them. In a low voice I tell them that Haymitch and I are being forcibly separated, that I'm to stay in the Capitol after the victory tour, and that the President and I are to fake my death. Perrie swears, using the worst four-letter words there are, and making up some of his own. Apple grimaces and gives me a hug.

I tell them of the fate of Haymitch's family, which prompts Perrie to go and tell Haymitch that his family is dead. I hear the shout of agony through the walls, but I can't go to him, because I've been hooked up to a drip of morphling. Turns out I got a couple of bad cuts when I was in the arena.

Apple grimaces, and looks at me. "So, you're to be my apprentice?"

"Yeah. But won't people recognize me? I'm gonna be 'dead', after all," I make the quotation marks as I say the word _dead_. Apple grins at me.

"Capitol fashion will look nice on you," he says mildly.

Oh. I understand. Wigs and makeup. Goddamn.

Two weeks. That's all I have. Then the tour. Then my 'death'. I fall silent again, and nobody, not Perrie, not Apple, can get another word out of me.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

I wake up in a world of pain in the Capitol. I'm hooked up to a drip of Morphling, but it's not physical pain that bugs me. My family is dead. My mother, Annabelle. My little brother, Joseph. They, aside from Anya, were all I had in the world. I figure the Capitol wants revenge for my force field stunt. Perrie tells me Anya's fine, but I know they'll probably kill her too, as soon as the tour's over.

We have our victory interview in two days, Perrie tells me, and I need to rest. I don't even bother answering. They say Anya's gone mute too.

I wonder if that's a good thing. Someone leaves a bottle of whisky. It might have been Perrie. I don't think. I just pick up the bottle, crack the lid, try to forget.

I drink.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Alright! Dual victors! Okay, so, basically, in case anyone's a little foggy on the details of the punishment, I'll explain. Snow's angry at Haymitch for cheating the system using the force field. <em>So, _in punishment, Haymitch's family is killed. This is canon. In canon, Haymitch's girlfriend is killed too. For the purpose of this story, Anya isn't going to die, but Haymitch is going to be told she's dead. In essence, Anya's death will be faked and she has to work in the Capitol. She can _only _escape this punishment when a Tribute from Twelve volunteers. Katniss has volunteered, and when this story begins, it's at the beginning of Catching Fire/ end of The Hunger Games. _

_Why didn't Anya show up during Katniss' first Games? She'd already been assigned to District Eleven for that year. But now, Snow's decided to make good on his promise. Next chapter, we'll see what happens on the victory tour, and Anya's 'death'. _

_Eheehee. I know where I'm taking this now! :D_

_Love,_

_Neve. _


	14. Chapter 14: Le 'Mort' de Anyarose

**The Lost Tribute ch 14**

_Woo-hoo! Ladies and gentlemen, Neve here with a message of gratitude for all my lovely readers and reviewers! Thank you sooo much! Last chapter was the longest, with a word count of over 4000. I'm amazed that I wrote that much. Anyway, this chapter covers the tour, the interviews, and then the 'death' of Anyarose. Shorter chapter, and last update for today. _

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

Apple dresses me in a long, soft dress the color of an evening sunset. He makes sure all my braids are still in place and applies makeup carefully.

"There, princess. You look beautiful," Apple says, and then adds, "Now smile, darling."

I can't smile, though. I have a month, tops, to be with the man I love before my 'death' is scheduled. We're to be torn apart. Tears prickle in the corners of my eyes again. Apple gently wipes them away.

"Hey. Don't cry, princess. I'll keep you safe," he says, and he presses a gentle kiss to my lips. I don't respond, I become a stone statue. Apple pulls away, guilt crossing his face.

"Aw, hell. I'm sorry, princess," he murmurs. I shrug and walk out. It's time.

I hear the music, Caesar Flickerman's voice. Haymitch appears out of the darkness beside me, and grips my hand. We're introduced and we walk on stage together. The crowds cheer and roar their approval. Haymitch and I wave, and I have to smile, pretending to be happy.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

Anya seems tense throughout the whole interview. Our tour starts in two days, but she barely speaks of it. She answers Caesar's questions quietly and politely. Her voice falters a little, and when Caesar comments, Anya delicately says she's still shaken from the arena. Caesar pats her hand, and says she was very brave to kill Sissia so brutally. The audience roars its approval.

Anya looks vaguely pale and ill. I wrap an arm around her, and she leans into me. I worry about her.

xXxXx

The Victory Tour is the worst. We stay in Twelve for a couple of days, and Anya packs a few of her favourite things from home into a little bag. I know she never leaves any place without her arena token – the charm necklace. The night before we go to District Eleven, we make love for the first time since we left the arena. I take care to be gentle with her. She sleeps.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

District Eleven is the worst place for me. I say condolences to Scarlett's family, lay a rose on her gravestone, repeat a prayer for her. The people of Eleven love me. They cheer for the girl who viewed their youngest tribute as a sister. I loathe the entire day.

We spend the days in the Districts, the evenings at parties, and the dead of night wrapped in each other's arms. Each morning at dawn I am injected with a dose of a Capitol drug that prevents pregnancy. For this, I am both angry and grateful. I am angry because maybe I _want _children. But I am grateful because I know I cannot raise a child in a world of Games and Reapings.

District One is unpleasant to say the least. Haymitch killed three of their four Tributes. We are not welcome here.

We reach the Capitol and I have to try extra hard not to faint or throw up. I am to 'die' tomorrow.

We spend the day at some fancy party, then a feast in the evening. The President sidles up to me, and murmurs, "when the guards come at dawn, do not panic. It is merely an act."

I nod my agreement and laugh as though he has said something delightful. The day's events conclude and Haymitch and I return to our room. I'm told the room next door is visible through a glass of some sort. Oh well.

We end the day as we have ended each day of this hellish tour – in bed together. My kisses are feverish, my touch burns. I want to be imprinted in his memory forever. When it's over, and we lay together, breathing heavily, I lie and say I'm cold. I dress in the black gown from earlier and feign sleep. I hear Haymitch pulling on his sweatpants and then he sleeps for real.

I am awake at dawn when the guards come. Everything I need – my charm necklace, my hair ribbons – are on my body. I'm ready. I kiss Haymitch until he wakes, and it's then that the guards burst into the room. Two restrain him, two seize me. To Haymitch it looks painful, but their grip on me is not excessively strong. I find I don't have to act when I start screaming.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

The guards come and I know this is more penance for my stunt in the arena. They restrain me and grab her. She screams and flails, tears pouring down her face as she screams out to me to help her, and that she loves me, and other things I'll never forget as long as I live. The door slams after them, and the guards restraining me leave, locking the door after them. They're standing guard. Suddenly, the window on the right hand side of the room changes, and I realize it's not a window to the Capitol at all. It's a mirror of sorts, glass looking into the room next door. Anya's standing there, bewildered. The light in the room goes out, I hear a gunshot. A scream. Then I'm pounding on the glass, because even before the light flickers on, I know what I'll see.

Anya's lying face down on the floor, long braids spilling across her face. There's no visible blood, but I dread to think what she'll look like as they turn her over. I yell and scream and punch the walls, the glass, the door, until someone comes in, tells me Anya's dead, and sticks me with a big needle that knocks me out.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

They take me to the room next door, tell me about the glass, and that I have to be a real good actress. The mirror-glass flickers to life and I attempt bewildered. The glass shuts off again, but Haymitch will think they've turned the light out in my room. One of the guards fires his pistol into the arm and I flop to the ground. The guards quickly fix my hair, make it look like I've fallen.

The mirror-glass flickers to life again and I hear an agonized shout, the pounding of a fist on glass. This goes on for a few minutes.

_For God's sake, _I want to say, _turn it off. Stop torturing him!_

But I can't say it or they'll shoot me for real. And the whole point of this is to torture him. Finally they turn the mirror-glass off and I'm pulled to my feet.

"Come _on _kiddo," it's Perrie.

"P-Perrie?" I stammer out.

"Come _on. _You need to get outta here. They're taking you to the Training Centre."

And after that short explanation, that's exactly where I end up. From there, I'm taken to the twelfth floor. The President is waiting for me.

"Good acting, Miss Riverstream. Mr Abernathy is under the impression you have been murdered by the Capitol. Tomorrow it will be put out that you are dead. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mr President."

"I'll be in touch when necessary, Miss Riverstream. For now though, I am here to assign your new name. henceforth and forevermore until you are released, your name shall be Rose, apprentice stylist of the Capitol. Is that clear?"

"Yessir, Mr President."

And so, it began.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

I wake the next morning to the television blaring out the news of Anya's death. They say her death is penance for my stunt in the arena. I find some liquor and drink til I'm incoherent.

xXxXx

I'm not quite sure, but I think I'm drunk for her funeral.

They hold it back in District Twelve, two days after I get back.

They let me go to it. Her funeral, I mean. It's closed casket, and the graveyard is packed. Perrie's there, with Apple and Posy. Standing with them is another Capitol woman I don't know. She's young, pale, wearing a long, white wig, and a black dress. Her face is painted white, and she wears black on her eyes and lips. I don't recognize her.

Perrie offers condolences. Posy and Apple copy him. The white haired woman remains silent. Effie Trinket comes through the crowd to offer sympathy, then she chivvies the other Capitol people; Perrie, Posy, Apple and the silent woman – back onto the train.

I didn't see them again for a long time.

I spent the days drunk, either in my house or at Anya's grave. Usually I passed out there, considering my options. I can't even _die_, because that's giving in to those Capitol bastards. I hate everyone, and drink away the nightmares. Try to numb the pain.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Alright. <em>So, _Anya's safe and sound in the Capitol. Haymitch thinks she's dead, and so he's becoming a drunk. Who can guess who the white-haired girl was? :P_

_Next chapter covers Anya's life in the Capitol, over the span of twenty years. So. Next chapter is set around the time of the 70__th__ Games, but jumps back and forth a bit. _

_Okay. Please review!_

_Neve._


	15. Chapter 15: The Apprentice & The Drunk

**The Lost Tribute ch 15**

_So many reviews! I'm feeling the love, guys and girls! Thank you so much! :D _

_Warnings this chapter for self-harm theme later on. I'm sorry if this upsets anyone, it won't be graphic. Also warning for the odd f-bomb on Haymitch's part. It's a habit he's picked up from Perrie, I'm afraid. _

_Neve_

**Anyarose**

They say that the first year away from home is the hardest. Whoever said that, is a fool. It doesn't show any signs of improving here.

My first day of my apprenticeship, working with Apple, began like the days of the past six months – with me screaming myself into consciousness, horrified by the nightmares of the arena that plagued me like flies in a jungle. I was just seventeen. In fact, today was my seventeenth birthday. I wondered how Haymitch was coping back home. Then I realized he'd probably already forgotten me. After all, I _am _meant to be dead. I dress in an off the shoulder top and a short skirt, and then cross to the closet to find a wig. Because I'm technically meant to be dead, or rather, the whole of Panem _thinks _I'm dead, I can't walk around with my long dark hair, because it's too recognizable. I choose a powder-blue wig, and put the sides in pigtails. I loathe the Capitol fashion, but I don't have a choice. I shove my feet into heels, apply a _lot _of makeup; white powder, pale blue lipstick, pink eyeliner. Then, I leave my room, heels clacking noisily as I go.

The other stylists have arrived overnight, and some are still arriving. They all look down their noses at me, sniggering and whispering. Do I look _too _atrocious? Too Capitol? Have I co-ordinated my colors wrong? No. It's not that. It's the fact that I'm seventeen years old and a new stylist. Out of nowhere, my mentor and ex-stylist, Apple, slings an arm round my shoulder and drops a kiss on my cheek. "Happy birthday, princess," he says in a low voice.

"Thanks," I say ruefully.

Apple tucks a small box into my dress pocket.

"For you," he murmurs.

I thank him and open the box. It contains a pair of metal flowers that glitter with pink and white diamonds. Earrings, I think they're called. Apple made sure my ears were pierced when I was turned into a Capitol girl. I put the earrings in and give my ex-stylist a hug.

He chivvies me along to the meeting room on the ground floor of the Remake centre. It's time to choose our District for the year's Games.

"Which District are you thinking of?" I ask.

Apple shrugs. "I was thinking… Eleven? For the little girl from last year," he lowers his voice dramatically so I can barely hear him. The little girl he speaks of is Scarlett, my friend from my Games last year. We didn't get a chance to be allies, because I didn't see her in the arena til it was too late. Designing the clothes for the Tributes from my friend's District would be another way to honour her.

"Eleven." I agree.

We slip into the room together, and the Director of the board of stylists is holding court. The long table is crowded with people. I glance at Apple, confused.

"Just sit next to me. You'll be fine," he whispers.

I sit between Posy and Apple.

Surprisingly, this year, a few people opt for Twelve. Posy and Apple, however, go for Eleven.

The Director reads out who has what, and when he gets to Eleven, I'm pleased with the announcement.

"The stylists for District Eleven will be Posy, Apple, and Rose."

Rose. My new name. A few heads turn to look at me, and I feel small and stupid amongst these Capitol fools. I am a Victor, and yet I have been reduced to a child again. The President tells me frequently that I am not the one being punished, though it's times like this that I wonder. I really, really do.

Still. We have District Eleven, which is great. Apple and Posy spend the day teaching me about different types of fabric, different sketching styles and different stitches. The actual making of the clothes takes a while to get the hang of, but the sketching, I seem to be a natural at. For the first time since I got imprisoned here six months ago, I manage to feel proud of myself, and happy.

Posy sneaks up on me and gives me a flower made of silver.

"Happy birthday, Rose," she says. I smile at her.

"Thank you, Posy," I say.

"It never dies. That flower, I mean," she informs me. I appreciate it a bit more after she says that.

I move from my room below ground to my new room on the Eleventh floor. I've just put everything away and am in the process of selecting a new outfit for the evening when someone knocks on my door. Oh, _hell_! I haven't got my wig on!

"Who is it?" I call in my Capitol accent. It took Perrie, my old mentor, a whole month to teach me Capitol elocution.

"It's only me," Apple calls. I breathe a sigh of relief and open the door just a crack so he can come in. Apple's combed out his apple-green hair, and re-done his silver eyeliner. He has a garment bag draped over one shoulder.

"We're going out tonight, princess," Apple informs me, dropping the garment bag.

That's news to me.

"Where? And what for?" I ask, confused.

"It's your birthday. In the Capitol, we celebrate birthdays." Apple explains.

"Oh." I sigh. Another Capitol tradition I'm not used to.

"_So, _my nephew suggested I take you to the opera," says Apple.

Opera? What on _earth _is an opera?

Apple senses my confusion and explains to me what an opera is. I tell him it sounds delightful, and genuinely mean it. We don't have opera in District Twelve. I cover my next question.

"You have a nephew?"

"Yes. His name is Cinna. He's six, and already has an amazing talent and potential as a stylist," Apple shows me a photo of his nephew on something he calls a cell phone. Winning the Games makes you rich for life, so I decide to invest in a cell phone at the next opportunity.

"So what's in the bag?" I ask.

Apple grins at me and unzips the bag. It's a dress, navy blue in color, off-the-shoulder, and it's got diamonds and sparkles along the hem.

"Woah." I can't help but say.

I've worn clothes designed by Apple before, but they've all been for show. This is pure elegance.

"You like it?" Apple asks.

"I _adore _it," I answer, and give him a hug. He helps me dress in it, and then lifts a handful of my long, dark hair, weighing it.

"I'll do your hair, shall I?" he asks.

I shake my head, "I have to wear a wig," I say sadly.

Apple chooses a black wig for me, waist length and ringlets. He brushes out my natural hair, pins it up, and fixes the wig on top. He gives me a pair of white gloves and tells me to wear low-heeled shoes. I do as he directs, and then he smiles at me.

"I'll be back in an hour," he says.

"Okay."

xXxXx

When Apple comes back, he's re-dyed his hair a dark brown. It suits him a lot better than his usual shade of green-dyed hair. "You look nice," I tell him warmly.

Apple grins at me and straightens out his suit jacket. "Thank you, Miss Rose."

I allow him to take me to the opera. I let myself enjoy myself that night, though I know I'll regret it as soon as I'm alone. Apple walks me home and goes to kiss me goodnight. I turn my head at the last moment. He doesn't say anything else, just goodbye.

xXxXx

I scream myself into consciousness every morning for the next six months. The preparations for the Games are well underway, and I assist Posy and Apple as best I can. Perrie calls me occasionally and tells me Haymitch is unrecognizable now. I blame myself. When Perrie tells me Haymitch attempted suicide at least twice before beginning to drink, I start to blame myself further. My wardrobe towards the Fifty-First Hunger Games consists mainly of long sleeves and thick bangles. I watch the Reapings with Apple, Posy, and a couple of Eleven's mentors – Seeder and Chaff. Chaff isn't much older than me, only twenty-two. He works out straight away what I'm doing to myself.

"Now _why _would a Capitol girl like you need to do something like that?" he asks.

I open my mouth to protest, then I remember I'm not Anyarose, Victor. I'm Rose, Capitol girl. Airhead. Fool. I make the cuts deeper that night as I wait for my Tributes and subsequent assignments.

xXxXx

The train holding our tributes, Nina and Jonah, siblings, rolls in early the next morning. It always sucks when you get siblings. Posy, Apple and I have been working on the opening parade outfits for weeks. Perrie swings by as I'm fitting a white-blonde wig that morning to give me a letter from the President, warning me not to speak to Haymitch Abernathy unless spoken to, and I _must not under any circumstances reveal my identity. _Great. On pain of death too. Don't the idiots know what I've been doing to myself?

Cursing the Capitol, I fix my curly wig onto my head, slip my feet into heeled turquoise sandals, and adjust my matching sundress. Finally. A season in the Capitol where simple clothes are 'in'.

When Apple first explained the concept of what's 'in' and what isn't, I was confused.

"In what?" I had asked. Apple had shaken his head and rolled his eyes but affectionately at the same time.

"In means 'in style'." He had said.

Oh God. I'm starting to speak like them now.

I clack down the hallway in my sandals, waiting impatiently for my tributes to arrive. The mentors are first off the trains, followed by the Tributes. The train for Eleven has pulled in next to the train for Twelve. I'm not allowed down to the station, but I wait anxiously in the Remake Centre.

My Tributes come through the doors, ushered in by Seeder. A few minutes later the Tributes from Twelve come in. I can't help but think that I should be mentoring these kids. Perrie's walking with our Tributes. Damn. Their Tributes. Not ours. I don't belong to Twelve anymore.

Two men bring up the rear. One of them is Chaff, recognizable to me instantly by his lack of arm on one side and bottle of whisky on the other. He offers me a clumsy salute with the stump of what used to be his arm. I grin at him. I like Chaff. He's funny.

I turn my attention to the man next to him and almost faint. Still as gorgeous as ever, with wavy blonde hair and dangerous grey Seam eyes I could lose myself in… he's dishevelled, obviously drunk to the point of incoherency, and has rings under his eyes that indicate he hasn't slept. Perhaps he hasn't slept since my 'death'.

My eyes lock with the eyes of Haymitch Abernathy. I expect recognition for a moment, but then I remember the stupid wig, the white powder, the turquoise lips and black lined eyes, the blue-coated lashes. I don't look remotely like Anyarose anymore.

"What the fuck are you looking at? Never seen a drunk before, sweetheart?" he slurs.

I stare, shocked. In all the time I've known Haymitch (our entire lives) he's never sworn in front of me like that, in such contempt. I realize I probably just look like Effie.

Speaking of Effie, she comes bustling through the door muttering obscenities under her breath about the mentors of Twelve being drug addicts and drunks and couldn't they have more respect?

She tips me a tiny smile of recognition, but I'm in too much agony to care. I carefully adjust my bangles and then realize Haymitch is waiting for an answer.

"Not frequently, Mr Abernathy," my practised Capitol accent wobbles a tiny bit on the last syllable, but he's too out of it to notice.

He mutters something unintelligible about Capitol idiots, about how I'm just another one of them, and then swaggers off to pass out somewhere.

I stare after him for a moment, and then come to my senses.

"Excuse me," I manage to choke out, and then I dash off in my ridiculous shoes, kicking them off as soon as I reach my room on the Eleventh floor of the Training Centre. I'm furious now. I tear the blonde wig from my hair, rip out the pins, let my hair tumble out of the restraints, fall down my back. I throw the shoes and tear off the bangles, carefully pull back the bandages and realize my wrists haven't stopped bleeding since the last time – last night. I don't care. I reach for my only weapon in this new world, and let myself bleed til my head spins and the room fades away.

xXxXx

I feel weightless. Is this what it feels like to die? It's a nice feeling.

_ROSE! ROSIE? _

Rosie? That's a new one. Who's yelling?

_Rose! God-fucking-dammit, girl!_

Oh. It's Perrie. Weird. What's Perrie doing here?

_You stupid, stupid girl!_

What? What have I done? A stinging in my arms that becomes a stabbing, the blackness takes on shapes and colors, and when my vision focuses I'm lying in a bed with a monitor hooked up to me, a drip of Morphling connected to me, and a stabbing in my arms. My ex-mentor, Perrie, sits beside me, and I swear to god he's crying. Actually _crying. _Perrie doesn't cry. Maybe it's the drugs he's on?

Then I realize his eyes aren't bloodshot. Perrie's gone cold turkey to keep watch on me.

"What were you thinking, Rosie?" he whispers.

"I wasn't," I reply honestly.

Perrie lets a couple more tears fall. "You've no idea what it was like, kiddo," he says, and he grips one of my little hands in his own.

"What do you mean?" I whisper.

"I went after you after you ran off. By the time I found you and kicked in your door… you were just lying there… Christ, you were so pale… there was so much blood…" Perrie trails off.

I groan. "Apple's gonna kill me. Did I miss the opening parade?"

Perrie rolls his eyes. "No, it's in two hours. You've only been unconscious for three hours."

I'm given morphling in tablet form, and some other pill to make sure the healed wounds on my wrists stay healed. Perrie walks me to the Remake Centre.

"Keep this a secret?" I plead with him.

Perrie rolls his eyes at me again, but his expression is gentle.

"Sure, Rosie."

I find I don't mind the nickname after that.

xXxXx

Nina and Jonah, our Tributes, look beautiful. Nina wears a dress embroidered with trees, flowers and fruit, and Jonah wears a suit patterned with the same. They carry baskets of fruit and flowers.

The Tributes from Twelve are in coal-miner outfits again. Apple, Posy and I exchange grimaces. I see Haymitch again, and he's even more intoxicated. I am disgusted with myself, because even this new, drunken ass that has replaced the brave man I knew still manages to make my heart feel like it'll explode with love for him. But I can feel the chains wrapped around me by the President, and know that I cannot, _ever, _tell him I'm alive and well. Perhaps not the second part.

He shoots me a sarcastic half-smirk as we watch the parade.

"I never got your name," he says, cool as you please, as though he hadn't insulted me to the point of suicide earlier. Perhaps he's forgotten. Maybe I should drink too?

I take a deep breath. "It's Rosie." I say.

The President will accept Rosie, I'm sure. It sounds even less like Anyarose.

"Rosie. Huh. I knew a girl once, her name was Anyarose." Haymitch slurs.

My heart skips a beat. "What happened to her?" my Capitol accent is flawless.

He shrugs and I see tears prickle in the corner of his eyes.

"Dead," he mumbles, "she's dead," he repeats, louder.

I mask my face into calm. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He laughs at me coldly. "No you're not. You don't give a _damn._ What was she to _you_?" he sneers.

Luckily for me, Posy comes to my rescue. "Rosie, come along, Nina's asking for you."

Nina. My Tribute. Right. Of course. I shake my head, as though trying to dispel water.

"Of course. Good evening, Mr Abernathy," I say coolly, and allow Posy to lead me off to Nina.

xXxXx

Nina and Jonah stand side by side. Jonah's seventeen, tall and strong, and Nina's fourteen, thin and agile, almost as tiny as me. Almost. The only feature these siblings share is the tanned skin and jet black hair.

"Did I do okay?" she asks me anxiously.

I nod my head at her, because she's a sweet little thing, really. My wrists are starting to smart again, so I look around for Perrie but he's over with the Twelve crew. _I _should be over there too. But I'm not.

"Rosie?" someone's calling me.

I snap back to the present.

"Yeah?" I ask, "Sorry."

"I asked what I'd be wearing for the interviews," Jonah says.

He's got a gentle smile on his face. He is the sort of boy who slips his rations to his little sister. He is the sort of guy who protects, rather than kills. He will be the boy who dies so his sister wins.

"Umm, well, Posy's your stylist, Jonah," I say, "So I'm not too sure."

Nina grins at me. Jonah's my age, but I feel _ancient _compared to him.

"Let's let her alone, Jo. Rosie's been unwell," Nina says softly to her brother.

I return to my own room in the Training Centre, and mull over Nina's sentence. _Rosie's been unwell. _

How selfish of me to even _contemplate _suicide when there are Tributes who rely on me! I resolve to wake up a little, and to focus on my Tributes. I may be too far gone, but it's not too late for Nina and Jonah.

xXxXx

_Hello, hello! Another long chapter! :P I know, all Anya this time. Next chapter will be all (or if not all, definitely mostly) Haymitch. I'm sorry it's been a kind of depressing thing, but it was necessary, I think, to get into Anya's head. She's going to end up quite bi-polar a bit later on, just as Haymitch ends up as a drunk. I have one final, message, alright, and that is if you know anyone who is suffering from depression, or bipolar, or cyclothymia, you don't have to do anything, it doesn't take much effort, but ask if they're okay, ask them if they think they need to see a therapist. Caring saves lives. I think Perrie and 'Rosie' are going to become closer now, since he saved her and whatnot. Apple's kind of in love with her, but don't fret. She doesn't love him. Does anyone want an Anya/Perrie one shot? If so, let me know in a review!_

_Love,_

_Neve. _


	16. Chapter 16: Nina Victorious

**The Lost Tribute ch 16**

_This chapter starts with Haymitch after he meets 'Rosie'. It then proceeds to the Games, where we'll switch back to Anya for a bit. :P Please review!_

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

I watch Posy lead the apprentice girl away. Rosie, her name is. I watch her speak to her Tributes, siblings from Eleven. She seemed so broken and delicate when she spoke to me, and even the thick bangles she wore couldn't disguise that she's been hospitalized for suicide attempts. Makes me wonder what the hell a Capitol girl would have to worry about, or to agonize over. Maybe her family's dead. But I see the way Apple hovers around her protectively. I try not to snort. The guy's in love with her, clear as day, but she seems oblivious.

I take a swig from my flask and wait for my own Tributes to get back. Lilly and Mark aren't exactly the best Tributes to have – Lilly's a twig-thin thirteen year old, and a bit slow to boot. Mark's a scrawny twelve year old. I've already gotten the condolence speeches written.

Perrie told me as soon as they were Reaped that they didn't stand a chance in hell. I told him he's a Capitol bastard who knows nothing about Tributes. Perrie lashed out and I decked him. It's never a good idea to put a drunk and a drug addict together in a room. Especially when they have a history of hatred between them. I think Perrie blames me for Anya's death. Aw. Hell. Anya.

I miss her so much.

I returned to Twelve to find my family dead, and Anya gone. I had nobody. I became a hermit, drinking myself incoherent each night, trying desperately to numb the pain of my losses.

I haven't looked back.

xXxXx

_Launch day. _I remember last year, _our _Launch Day. I remember how Anya and I stayed up all night, lost in each other and trying so hard to shut out the fear of what was to come. My Tributes are shaking. Mark asks me for some final advice. I smirk, take a swig of whisky, and tell him,

"Accept the probability of you imminent death."

Mark scowls at me and stalks off to the hovercraft. Lilly doesn't even bother asking my advice and opinion. She's pretty much accepted she's doomed. She gives me a half-wave as she walks onto the hovercraft. I'm starting to think she's as bat shit insane as me.

Insane is good. Perhaps she'll win. Personally, I've got my money on the kid from Eleven that Rosie keeps hovering around. Speaking of Rosie, she's sat next to me on the Mentor/Stylist hovercraft. She doesn't speak to me. In fact, she doesn't speak to _anyone. _She's probably worried about her Tributes, which is weird for a Capitol chick. I sneak a sideways glance at her. She's wearing some stupid violet wig, with matching lipstick, sundress and heels. Her skin's ice-pale again. Huh. Someone should really tell that chick about the sun. And its benefits.

Not me though. I feel a stab of pity for the girl, because she's forgotten the bangles today, and you can see the thin, deep, pink-white scars on her wrists. She notes me looking and shoots me a glare before she turns away and talks to Apple instead. Fair enough. It's none of my business anyway.

I take another swig of whisky and wait til we land. It's gonna be a long day, that's for sure.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

I've forgotten my bracelets. I only realize this when I catch Haymitch staring at the scars. I glare at him as icily as I can and turn to Apple, engaging in a chat about the odds of our Tributes surviving past the bloodbath. I can feel Haymitch's eyes on me, but I do _not _talk. I'm not allowed to.

xXxXx

The male Tribute from Twelve, Mark, is one of the first ones to die in the bloodbath. Jonah, Nina, and the girl from Twelve, Lilly, form an alliance and leg it off into the woods. Between them, they have a water bottle, a knife, a mace, and a blanket. It turns out Nina can kill brutally when faced with enemies, seeing as she manages to kill the Tribute following them with a throwing star she picked up along the way to the forest.

Lilly, the youngest of the trio, lands the knife as her weapon. Jonah is the tallest and strongest, so the girls assign him the mace. Nina has her throwing star. They take turns sipping water, and when night falls they huddle under the blanket.

As predicted, the bloodbath annihilates half the Tributes. Chaff and Seeder are pacing our control room, whilst Posy, Apple and I sit silently, watching.

"We've still got both Tributes, that's gotta be a good sign," I say.

Chaff grins at me, "Yeah. 'S long as Abernathy's Tribute doesn't stick 'em in their sleep."

xXxXx

The Games drag on, and on, and on.

Amazingly, Lilly, Nina, Jonah and a couple of Careers make it to the final six. It's then that Lilly tries to kill Nina while Jonah's back's turned. Jonah's faster though, and when a cannon booms, it's not Nina lying dead on the ground. It's Lilly.

Twelve's Tributes are out. Jonah's injured though, but still manages to take out two of the three Careers before he dies. Nina's furious, angry enough to throw the throwing star from her pocket so it lodges in the eye of the final Career. A cannon booms. She's done it. _Nina's done it!_

The control room is a rabble. Seeder and Chaff are cheering, Posy and Apple are applauding, and I'm laughing. Nina is returned to us scrawnier than ever, wrists in danger of snapping, eyes sunken, but alive. She turns to me and she says, quietly, when nobody's listening,

"I know why you hid now, Anya," she whispers.

How she recognizes me is a mystery, but I tap a finger to my lips and she mimes lips being sealed.

xXxXx

The years pass. I don't stay in touch with any of my living Tributes, except Nina. I get shifted from District to District with every passing year. As years go on, my flashbacks and depression worsens. Each year, I watch Haymitch become even more of a drunken wreck. We change constantly, but one thing remains the same.

We miss each other.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Short chapter. Kind of a filler, to be honest. Next chapter, we're back to the 74<em>_th__ Hunger Games, where Katniss volunteers and breaks the imprisonment of Anyarose. :D_

_I'm getting mixed opinions on a totally unrelated Perrie/Anya oneshot. Thoughts, guys and girls?_

_love,_

_Neve._

_PS - DOES ANYONE WANT A ONE-SHOT ABOUT NINA? AND HER GAMES? _


	17. Chapter 17: The 74th Hunger Games

**The Lost Tribute ch 17**

_Oh-hai, lovely readers. Today, you get two, maybe three chapters. Why? Because Neve can't be bothered with her Macbeth study. So. You get this chapter as well. This chapter, Katniss volunteers for the Games, which breaks the deal of imprisonment for Anya. In other words, Anya's free. But she can't return to Twelve because she's already been assigned to Eleven again. So. You won't get a Haymitch/Anya reunion _this _chapter. Though Anya's allowed to talk to him now… :D_

_Another chapter mainly narrated by Anya. I'm sorry… :c next chapter will definitely be Haymitch though._

_Neve._

* * *

><p><strong>74<strong>**th**** Hunger Games **

**Anya**

I sit on the couch between Perrie and Posy. Apple sits on Posy's other side. Seeder, Chaff and Nina are here too. Nina's grown so much – she's thirty seven now, and one of Eleven's most beloved mentors. Me? I'm forty. Though, when you look at me, you wouldn't guess that. This is because, fifteen years ago, when I was twenty-five, I was one of the pioneers for a new fashion statement in the Capitol. Effectively, it makes you look younger than you are. So, physically, I'm still twenty five. Apparently, when I'm eighty, I'll only look fifty. Apple says it's cool.

Perrie is a lot older now – at least sixty. He doesn't take drugs anymore, and he's kind of become my best friend. Which is weird, seeing as when I was his Tribute, all he did was yell abuse and slap me. Still. Since he saved my life twenty-odd years ago, we've kinda been best friends. We watch the Reapings together, watching all the way through. We wait expectantly for Eleven, us stylists with sketchbooks open on our laps. Posy's ill and so not designing this year. But she and Apple married two years ago, so she's always welcome. We get two very different Tributes this year. One's a huge, muscly guy called Thresh. The other is tiny, smaller than me, smaller than Nina. She's twelve. Her name is Rue.

Nobody volunteers for her, which makes Nina scream at the screen about how unfair that is, and doesn't _anyone _in Eleven have a heart?

We watch the next Reaping. Twelve. My home District. I watch for Haymitch. He's not there. I guess he's passed out on the Tribute train again, like Effie Trinket told me happened last year.

Speaking of Effie Trinket. Her hand dips into the Reaping ball, she lifts out a piece of paper, smooths it out, and reads, "Primrose Everdeen!"

It all happens very fast then. The little girl, a tiny blonde twelve-year-old, has barely reached the stage when an older girl, about sixteen, with dark hair and grey eyes, steps forward, sweeping the younger girl (her sister?) behind her protectively. She cries out.

"I volunteer!"

Silence, and then she screams out again, to make sure they've heard her.

"I volunteer as Tribute!"

Silence for a moment. Silently, we watch as the girl, whose name is Katniss Everdeen, is accepted as Tribute. As the boy, Peeta Mellark, is Reaped. We watch them get ushered inside the Justice Building, and then silence. I've been so caught up in the dramatic Reaping in Twelve, I've forgotten for a moment what it means. The Reapings aren't live, but the President will already know there's been a volunteer for Twelve. A volunteer for Twelve. I look to Perrie first and I find him grinning.

"You're free, kiddo." He says, grinning.

I think I cry then. We've barely started on the first bottle of liquor when an Avox arrives with a sealed letter for me. It's from the President.

I don't even bother with any Capitol makeup or a wig. I slip my feet into my gold sandals, straighten my gold dress, run my fingers through my loose, dark hair, which now touches my hips. I'm going to need a haircut soon. Oh well. Perrie comes with me, walking stick making a dull _thunk _with each step. We're driven in a car to the President's mansion, and I'm shown into his study.

"Hello, Miss Riverstream," President Snow says pleasantly, gesturing for me to sit.

I sit. "Good evening, Mr President," I say.

"It seems Twelve has a volunteer this year," the President says.

"So it would seem, Sir," I agree.

Snow considers for a moment. "I told you that you would be free when someone volunteered, and I will keep to my word. However, you may not return to District Twelve until after this years Games are over, as you've already been assigned to Eleven. Sound fair?"

"Very fair. More than fair, sir," I say.

He nods. "Of course, you may talk to Haymitch Abernathy now, and any other restrictions upon you are lifted. I'm sorry this had to happen to you, Ms Riverstream," he says.

I thank him and he dismisses me.

I tell Perrie that I'm free now. We return to the Remake Centre and rejoin the party.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

Well, well. Looks like I've actually gotten a pair of Tributes with backbones this year. Demanding I stay sober is just one of the few things they've hit me with so far. The girl, Katniss, I'm worried about. She's too much like me, which means she'll probably end up like me – a Victor, but with everyone she cares about stone cold dead.

The years haven't been kind to me at all. Twelve's got some new stylists, Cinna and Portia, which is great, but I'm still stuck with goddamn Effie Trinket. Perrie drops by, but ever since his leg got busted, he doesn't mentor so much. We arrive in the Capitol and I oversee Peeta and Katniss being chivvied into the Remake Centre. I'm just leaving when I walk into a woman. She's young, dark eyed, dark haired, and pale. Instantly I'm reminded of Anya. Then I realize it's Rosie, the suicidal girl I met all those years ago, only she's not wearing makeup or a wig.

"Hello, Mr Abernathy," she greets.

God. She sounds _happy _for once, like her depression's faded away. Her Capitol accent lilts up and down, and she even _smiles _at me before she saunters off. Okay. That was weird. She _never _smiles, especially not at drunken fools like me.

I ask Perrie how in hell Rosie still looks so young, and he tells me about some age-reducing drug they have in the Capitol. I roll my eyes. Figures.

Perrie suggests I find someone to ask out, like Rosie, and earns himself a drunken punch to the jaw. Have they all _forgotten _about Anya or something?

Anya. Whose death is entirely my fault. Anya. Who I would give _anything _to hold in my arms, and protect her from the world.

Cinna comes up to me and says something about Tributes and fire. I just nod and say 'sure, why not.'

I'm not listening.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

We dress Rue and Thresh in leaves and flowers, and they get a lot of applause at the parade. But it's the Tributes from Twelve who are the stars of the show. Cinna, Apple's twenty-nine year old nephew, has lit the Tributes from Twelve _on fire. _It's not real fire, but it's the single most _amazing _thing I've ever seen, and I make sure to tell him that. He grins and says thanks, and that he likes what Apple and I did with our Tributes this year. I smile at him and show him the design for Rue's interview dress. Cinna looks at it attentively for a moment, brows furrowed as he surveys my design. I've been a stylist longer than him, but Cinna's talent is ridiculously good.

"Add wings," he says simply, kisses my forehead, and then hurries off to greet Katniss and Peeta.

_Add wings, _I repeat in my head, _Cinna, you're a genius. _

I hurry off to greet my Tributes, who are waiting with Nina and Chaff. Seeder's there too, complimenting my designing. I feel myself flush with pride.

Maybe, just maybe, one of my Tributes will win this year.

I keep up this way of thinking until the interviews, where the Tributes from Twelve drop the star-crossed lovers bombshell on us. It's like looking at Haymitch and I all over again.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>A Few Weeks Later<strong>

**Haymitch**

They did it. Katniss and Peeta did it. They won. Admittedly, calling the Capitol's bluff to do so isn't the wisest choice. I'm giving Katniss some last minute coaching when Rosie sneaks up on me. I finish my coaching and Katniss leaves with a smile at Rosie, who's got this urgent look on her face.

"Can I speak with you?" she asks.

I roll my eyes. "Can't it wait, sweetheart?" I drawl.

She shrugs. "Sure, Mr Abernathy. I'll talk to you later."

Rosie doesn't come find me later, she doesn't bother looking for me before I head back to Twelve with Katniss and Peeta. Maybe she forgot. But I'm left wondering what the hell she wanted to tell me so badly.

And why, why, why, did she look so familiar?

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Short chapter again. Next chapter, <em>finally, _is the Haymitch/Anya reunion. WOO! This is set… a couple of days before the Quell is announced. Yep. Woo! _

_Please review! _

_Love,_

_Neve. _


	18. Chapter 18: Reunited, Reignited

**The Lost Tribute ch 18**

_Oh-hi there everyone! Welcome to chapter eighteen of The Lost Tribute. I'm super excited about this one, because _finally _Haymitch and Anya are back together again. I _will _be taking this story all the way through to the end of Mockingjay, because I am _not _happy that Haymitch ended up all alone. Sorry. Spoiler alert! Anyway. Enjoy the chapter, get excited, leave a review. I am _seriously _getting a headache writing so much. Aw well. It's for a good cause. Alrighty. Without further ado, I give you the eighteenth chapter of The Lost Tribute. _

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Katniss<strong>

"… and so that's what happened to Anya," says Haymitch.

The other occupants of the room are silent for a moment. Prim looks close to tears.

"That's such a sad story," she says sadly.

Haymitch shrugs, takes a swig of liquor, and says, "That's life, kid."

Gale shakes Haymitch's hand, nods curtly at Peeta, gives me and Prim hugs, and smiles at my mother before he ventures off home. Prim and my mother go back to our house, with me promising I'd be back soon. I remember seeing Rosie in the Capitol, and I wonder if Haymitch has been wrong all this time.

"Maybe she's not dead?" I say.

This earns me a mouthful of abuse, and the promise of a knife in the gut if I don't leave, _now. _So I do, dragging Peeta with me. I stay at Peeta's house that night. I'm sure my mother will understand.

xXxXx

I don't see Haymitch for a couple of days. Peeta goes to check on him to make sure he's still alive, but each time he gets told to get lost. Or words to that effect.

About a week after Haymitch told us about Anyarose, Gale came running full-pelt up the road from the main town to the Victor's Village. This immediately made me panic.

"Gale? What's going on?" I ask, immediately on guard.

"There's a Capitol woman here. She's looking for Haymitch," says Gale.

I follow him back up the road. A woman's waiting for us, using a hand to shield her eyes from the dust and sun. She's pale, beautiful, not a day older than twenty-five at least, with long dark hair done up in heaps and heaps of thin braids. The braids have been wound with ribbons embroidered with gold, and when she lowers her hand to greet us, I can see her eyes are coal-black. It's Rosie, I think, but when I last saw Rosie she was wearing bright blue contact lenses and her hair wasn't braided. It's been cut since then, and she's removed the contacts.

"Rosie?" I ask.

"A nickname my old mentor gave me, instead of Rose," the woman says.

"Rose. Short for -" I trail off.

"Anyarose," she finishes quietly.

I'm amazed, my mouth falls open. "But… you died. Haymitch told us!"

She shakes her head. "No. It was faked. It's easy to fake a death – dark room, gunshot. Lights on, lie down."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because of the stunt with the force field."

"How come you're allowed back now?" I ask warily.

She shrugs. "The President said I could go free when someone from Twelve volunteered."

"I'll go wake Haymitch." I say, and sprint off towards the Victor's Village.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

I'm half-asleep, lying in a pile of bottles, dirt, and cushions, when Katniss comes barrelling into my house. She's shaking me, talking rapidly about Anya and Anya faking her death, and that she's here, right here in Twelve, and if I don't wake up she's going to dump cold water on me. Ugh. I blink and sit up.

"Whaddya want?" I get out.

Katniss stands there with her hands on her hips. "Anyarose. Is alive. And she's here. In Twelve."

That gets my attention.

"What?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah. The Capitol faked her death. You know Rosie? Guess who." Katniss says.

Of _course. _That's why she was so familiar.

"But… why's she free now?"

"Because Twelve had a voluntary Tribute."

I stand up. I'm too sober for this. I put on my jacket and follow Katniss outside.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

I walk with Gale, dragging my small suitcase along the dirt road. I didn't bring much with me. A few of my favourite sundresses and matching shoes. All the wigs and makeup got left behind though. My old token necklace, battered but forever around my neck, is on display. I usually have to hide it. Not anymore. Apple braided my hair for me this morning, winding the ribbons, old and a tad frayed, but still nearly pristine, into each one. There are more names now. _Katniss. Peeta. Rue. Thresh. Scarlett. Nina. Jonah. _

The Tributes I knew best, and the ones I hope to know.

We approach Haymitch's house and I see him standing there with Katniss. I see the spark of recognition in his eyes, the relief as I come closer, I see him glance at my necklace, which confirms that I am, indeed, alive and well.

"All this time… you've been in the Capitol…" he says weakly.

"Hello, Mr Abernathy," I say, dropping the Capitol accent on the last word.

"Damn you," he says, voice hoarse, "damn you."

And then he's pulling me into his arms and kissing me like I'm air and he's drowning. His fingers tangle in my braids like they used to when we were just children, and my hands go to his long, wavy blonde hair.

"Is this real? Are you real?" he asks, pulling away for a moment, forehead resting against mine. I smile at him, and nod, before returning my lips to his. Katniss has disappeared, most likely to find Peeta, and Gale's gone too. We're alone, and we're together again. His fingers tangle in my braids again, one hand resting in the small of my back. He gently bites on my lower lip and I respond by opening my mouth just a little. His tongue sweeps over mine, and I let my hands tangle in his dirty blonde hair.

"I love you, Anya," he tells me between kisses as we go inside the house.

"I love you too." I tell him as we fall onto the couch and he pulls me on top of him.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

Anya's _alive. _She's actually _alive. _After all these years, she's been under guard in the Capitol. She explains everything to me, tells me the whole story. She tells me how she tried to kill herself and how every time, Perrie saved her. I figure I owe the old bastard.

We stay up til daybreak, talking, kissing, talking some more. Eventually, we fall asleep in each other's arms. I don't realize til I wake up at around noon the next day that I'm completely sober. At first, I wonder if I hallucinated all of yesterday, but then I realize Anya's lying in my arms, wide awake and staring at me with those unforgettable eyes of hers.

"I can't believe this is real," she whispers, her hand on the side of my face. I lean down to kiss her.

"It is real, sweetheart. Just don't vanish on me again," I tell her, and she snuggles close to me, her hand dropping to rest over my heart.

"Never," she tells me.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Katniss<strong>

The next few days are a blur. I stay in the house with Peeta, my mother, and Prim. Gale comes to visit occasionally, slipping past the Peacekeepers in the main town. Haymitch and Anya occasionally make appearances, and it never ceases to amaze me that Haymitch is sober every time.

Anya is a good influence on him. Or rather, that's what I thought. Until Peeta explained to me.

"She's unstable. Her flashbacks come by day. Haymitch has to be sober to make sure she doesn't kill herself."

Oh.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

The day they announce the Quell is the same day they air photos of Katniss in her wedding dresses. We're all sitting on the couches in Katniss' house, and when the announcement begins, Anya's nails dig into my arm. Maybe she's been expecting what comes next.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female Tributes will be Reaped from their existing pool of Victors," says the President.

Katniss' mother gives a small shriek, Prim buries her head in her hands, and my eyes flicker to Katniss. She doesn't understand for a moment. Then she does. She stands, bolts from the house. Peeta goes to run after her but I motion for him to leave it.

"You have to let me go back in," Peeta says, "If you get Reaped, I'm volunteering. And if I get Reaped, you're _not _volunteering for me."

I roll my eyes. "You know, there are _two _female Victors."

Peeta realizes this and his eyes flicker to Anya. I follow his gaze. She's silent. Staring at the screen but not seeing. There's no way they'll Reap her. She wouldn't survive another round in the arena. Maybe that's what they want.

I move to stand, to go back to my own house, because I'm sure Katniss will turn up there sooner or later. Anya doesn't follow at first, until I gently tug on her hand. She mutely follows me back to my house. Although house number 2 is technically Anya's, she's barely ever there.

Anya perches on the couch, draws her knees up under her chin, and trembles slightly. There's nothing I can do for her, except put a blanket round her and let her come back to me.

As for me? I drink.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

It's Katniss' belief that we're going to save Peeta this time. She trusts us enough to believe we'd be honest with her. But _Peeta _isn't the symbol of the rebellion. Katniss _is. _She's the Girl On Fire. The Mockingjay. She just doesn't know it yet.

xXxXx

Peeta tries to keep Katniss and Haymitch sober, to train us all for the upcoming Games. To be fair to him, he manages to do this quite well. A couple of times, I feign relapse, so Haymitch is _forced _to keep sober. I learn to shoot again, but prefer to train with my knife. I still don't know if our training is enough.

xXxXx

It's Reaping day. We're still split off, so I have to stand with Katniss. Effie Trinket's hand shakes as she pulls out a piece of paper from the Reaping ball.

"Remember. No volunteering," Katniss says. I nod.

"Katniss Everdeen." Effie calls out. Katniss grips my hand for a moment, then makes her way to the stage.

Effie goes to Reap the male Tribute.

"Haymitch Abernathy."

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Bwahahahaha! Cliffhanger for you! Now, I don't know whether to keep this canon, and have Peeta volunteer… or whether to throw Haymitch back into the arena. I'm likely to keep it canon, but… I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts on this. Please review!<em>

_Neve._


	19. Chapter 19: 3rd Quell: Victors & Videos

**The Lost Tribute ch 19**

_Oh-hi! This chapter has been a _struggle _for me, because I've been weighing it up as to whether or not to stick with canon or to go totally AU. I finally decided it's best to stick with canon, because otherwise it interferes with one of the key plot points in Catching Fire and Mockingjay. _So. _Peeta's in the arena. However. I am going to write an AU when this is done, or perhaps sooner, about what would happen if Haymitch had gone in the arena. _

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

"Haymitch Abernathy." Effie Trinket reads.

I _think _I cry out in fear or protest, but I'm not sure. The square spins, everything goes dark, and I'm sure I'm about to pass out. Haymitch _cannot _go back into the arena! He'll die. I'll die too, then, because I cannot _bear _a world without him. He begins walking towards the stage, but he's only taken two steps before Peeta yells out that he volunteers. Haymitch stops. Peeta strides past, clapping Haymitch on the shoulder, and then joins Katniss on the stage. I shove past the Peacekeepers, dodging a couple who try to grab me.

"Wait. Let her through," one of the higher ranking Peacekeepers says, and I nod gratefully at him. The others don't seem to be moving though, so the Peacekeeper on my side grabs me round the wrist and carefully guides me through the group of Peacekeepers that separate me from Haymitch.

"Who _are _you?" I ask under my breath.

The Peacekeeper, in response, lets out a low whistle under his breath. I recognize it as Rue's four-note-whistle. Rue. My Tribute from last year.

"Name's Noah," says the Peacekeeper quietly as we reach the other side. Haymitch is waiting for me. He gives Noah a curt nod, and I throw myself into Haymitch's arms.

"Come on. You need to get inside," Noah ushers us into the Justice Building where Katniss, Peeta and Effie are waiting. Head Peacekeeper Thread is waiting with them.

From there, we're bundled into a car and taken to the train station. There are no goodbyes allowed.

"One last thing," says Thread.

The last thing I see before the train doors are slammed shut is Noah being forced to his knees and a gunshot. Noah slumps to the ground, a bullet between his eyes.

I think I scream, though I'm not entirely sure. Then everything goes black and I slump to the ground.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

When they call my name, I hear Anya screaming, on the verge of hysteria. I take a deep breath and start towards the stage. I've barely gotten two steps when Peeta's volunteered. He sweeps past me, claps me on the shoulder, and joins Katniss. Anya's still hysterical, I can hear her, but we're surrounded by a small army of Peacekeepers.

I hear a faint scuffle, an authorative voice. More scuffles. A distinct sound of someone getting punched. Mere moments later, a Peacekeeper comes through, dragging Anya by the wrist. It's Noah, one of the rebels. I give him a curt nod, and Anya throws herself into my arms. I hold her close until she stops shaking. Noah at least respects that.

"Come on. You need to get inside."

He leads us into the Justice Building where Katniss, Peeta and Effie are waiting with Thread. Noah, Thread and three others escort the five of us to the train station.

We're herded onto the train like cattle, and Thread calls out to us.

"One last thing."

Before I can even think to cover Anya's eyes, Noah's being forced to his knees by two Peacekeepers, and the third puts a bullet between his eyes. The door slams and the train begins to move. Anya's passed out. It takes her a minute or two to come round, and when she does, the first thing she does is speak to Katniss.

"Write letters. I'll make sure it gets to Prim," she says.

Katniss nods her head and mutters thanks, before she slopes off to her room, Peeta following.

"That was kind of you, sweetheart, but she's not gonna write those letters," I say.

Anya nods, "I know."

I sigh heavily and flop down into an armchair, pulling Anya onto my lap. She snuggles into me like she used to when we were teenagers, kids, and I absent-mindedly run my fingers through her long hair. She snuggles closer, winds one arm around my neck, but keeps one hand resting over my heart. I lean down and kiss her. She sighs, effectively letting me deepen the kiss.

"I love you," I tell her.

Anya smiles against my lips. "I love you too."

I kiss her again. I don't know who needs the comfort most right now. I feel her fingers on the buttons of my shirt and I smirk to myself.

"Hey, sweetheart, how about we go to our room, hmm?" I suggest.

Anya realizes where we are and blushes, nodding. I grin and she stands up, tugging on my hand. I follow her. The door to our room shuts with a click.

"Now," I say, pulling Anya into my arms, "where were we?"

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

I don't sleep. At least, not for very long. Haymitch is completely zonked out though, which is good, because what with staying awake every night to look after me, he barely gets any sleep at all. I carefully ease out of his embrace, my feet hitting the fluffy carpeted floor of the train compartment. I sneak over to the wardrobe and program it to give me a vest top and denim shorts. I dress quickly in my undergarments and the shorts and top. I realize it's cold when you're not snuggled up with someone, so I steal Haymitch's shirt from where it was discarded on the floor a couple of hours ago. Pulling it around my shoulders, I sneak out of the room in search of Katniss and Peeta. They're in the living room, watching a video. Not just any video. It's a Games video. Not just any old Games video either.

The second Quarter Quell. My Games.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Katniss<strong>

Peeta and I are watching the Second Quarter Quell. I was curious as soon as I saw the tape, with its label that read:

_Second Quarter Quell. Victors: _Haymitch Abernathy _& _Anyarose Riverstream_._

"We have to watch it," I said.

Peeta weighed the tape in his hand but finally agreed when I suggested we might gain information about how Quells work. To be honest, seeing as the Quells change each time, there's not much information to be gleaned. In all honesty, I'm just curious to see what the Games Haymitch talked about were like.

We settle down to watch the Quell. First, President Snow announces that there will be double Tributes this year, and then they go straight to the Reapings. I'm amazed to see Effie Trinket, only about eighteen herself, as she crosses to the Reaping ball. First, Maysilee Donner is called. She is hugged goodbye by her twin sister – Madge's mother – and another girl who I'm startled to recognize as my own mother. Next, Effie calls another by-now familiar name.

"Anyarose Riverstream."

Anya steps forward, and I'm surprised at how little she's changed. Pale, dark haired, black-eyed, tiny and agile looking. She's wearing a pale yellow dress and a nervous smile. Next, they Reap the boys. First, a thirteen year old called Thom. My bet is he won't last past the bloodbath.

Finally, they call Haymitch. We see the look of horror and pain that twitches across Anya's face as Haymitch steps forward. I'm shocked by how much he's changed over the years. Back then, he looked so different. Young. Strong. And, if I'm perfectly honest, pretty darn handsome to boot.

He steps onto the stage and stands beside Anya. Subconsciously, he reaches for her hand. The whole of Panem will have seen this, and the commentator makes some remark about the tragedy of childhood sweethearts.

They cut through the parade super-fast, and flash through the interviews. We see all of Haymitch's interview and all of Anya's as well. Haymitch makes a snarky remark about the competitors still being as stupid as usual, and then Caesar asks him about Anya. You can see how much Haymitch adores Anya in his reply.

When it comes to Anya's turn, because she's last this year, Caesar asks her about Haymitch. Her response brings a few people to tears.

"So, Anyarose, we've heard some things from your District partner and your sweetheart about you. Is there anything you want to add?" Caesar asked her.

Anya takes a deep breath, smooths the creases in her dress, and looks at Caesar as though what she has to say will stay between the two of them, rather than be broadcast to the entire nation of Panem.

"Haymitch is my life. Chances are, he'll be my death too. Either way, I love him more than life and death itself can possibly fathom."

I have to admit, her response even brings a couple of tears to my eyes.

We watch the Tributes launch, watch Anya and Haymitch run off into the forest together after snagging backpacks and knives. We watch them find shelter.

Later, we watch as Maysilee Donner saves Haymitch's life and becomes an ally. I watch as Scarlett, a little girl from Eleven who Anya befriended during training, finds them in the night with a poisoned wound. She dies in Anya's arms, and I'm reminded of Rue.

They announce that there will be two Victors that year, because of the double Tribute count. Maysilee splits off from them once they reach the end of the arena. She's barely gone a mile before the screaming starts. Anya and Haymitch are too late to save her. She's been killed by mutts. They sit with her as she dies, and again, I'm reminded of Rue.

There's four of them left now – Anya, Haymitch, Shimmer from One, and Sissia from Seven.

I watch as Haymitch and Anya make the District Twelve goodbye sign to Maysilee and start up the hill. They're barely half a mile from Maysilee when the girl from Seven springs out of the bushes, wielding a short sword, and unpleasant smirk on her face. She's the one who used a poisoned knife to kill Scarlett, the little one from Eleven, I realize.

She engages Haymitch in combat, sneering at him in a sing-song voice. He's good, he took down two Careers earlier on, but this girl, Sissia, is perhaps better. And then, just when she looks like she's about to win, Anya springs out of nowhere. Haymitch takes advantage of the girl's distraction and slashes her hand. Sissia drops the knife, and as she bends to retrieve it, Anya snags her by the hair, pulling her head back.

"This is for Scarlett," Anya whispers, and she's cut Sissia's throat. Haymitch leaps out the way to avoid the jet of arterial blood that sprays out of the wound.

The cannon booms.

The sound of their fight has alerted the girl from One, Shimmer, to their whereabouts. Anya's gone all wide-eyed, and I realize she's in shock from the brutal kill she just made.

Haymitch shoves Anya out of the way.

"Fool," a soft voice says from behind me.

I turn on the couch to see Anya standing in the doorway, wearing Haymitch's shirt and a pair of shorts. She comes and sits on my other side and we watch the long, bloody fight. The girl undoubtedly has a better weapon, but Haymitch manages to gouge one of her eyes from its socket. I wonder if that's the end of Shimmer for a moment, but she comes back fighting. Furious, Shimmer swings the axe and it hits Haymitch in the stomach. He turns and bolts up the hill to the force field, holding his intestines in. Shimmer follows, with Anya close behind. She's picked up the knife she cast aside after she killed Sissia, but I don't think she'll need it.

Anya's still all wide-eyed, and I know for a fact that Anya is incapable of killing anyone right at that moment. Haymitch falls to his knees, convulsing. The girl from One throws her axe, and Haymitch ducks. When the axe comes whistling back through the air, it embeds itself right into Shimmer's skull.

The cannon booms for the final time. Anya side-steps Shimmer's blood-stained body, looking in severe danger of either fainting or screaming. She runs to Haymitch, who really is convulsing now, and she starts screaming for help. They're declared the Victors of the Fiftieth Hunger Games, the Second Quarter Quell, and then the hovercraft appears.

They're hoisted up, and then it cuts to the victory interviews. Peeta hits the pause button.

"What happened? After you got hoisted up?" he asks.

Anya shrugs. "They locked me in a launch tube type thing, because I went hysterical. He nearly died, you see."

She takes a deep breath, "Then. Well. You know the rest. We were separated, until a volunteer from Twelve showed up."

I grin sheepishly. Anya returns the grin. We watch the Victory Tour, the interviews, and then turn the screen off.

"He made the Capitol look stupid," I say, brow furrowed, "that's why they punished him, right, Anya?" I ask.

Anya nods. "That's right," she says.

"It's almost as bad as us and the berries," I say, and Peeta nods his agreement. We laugh then, Anya and I, whilst Peeta looks at us like we're insane. Perhaps we are.

There's a low, sarcastic chuckle from behind us.

"Almost," says Haymitch, "but not quite."

He's standing there wearing sweatpants and a black t-shirt that reminds me of his Tribute outfit.

I expect him to be angry, or even make some snarky remark about needing to learn from the experts, but instead, he takes a swig from a bottle of whisky, smirking. It should probably annoy me, the fact that he's not sober, but it doesn't. I'm too focused on thinking that between Haymitch, Anya and myself, we might just be able to bring Peeta home.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

I suppose it should bug me, watching the replay of my Games. Oddly enough, it doesn't. It's like watching another Games, one that I had no part in. I watch myself and Haymitch on screen, each of us desperately trying to keep the other alive, even when the dual Victor rule is declared.

I watch Scarlett die in my own arms, but it still doesn't feel like that was me. except, when I close my eyes, I can still feel her measly weight on me, feel her bony hand grip mine as she died.

I watch myself brutally kill Sissia, my first and only kill during the Games. I watch myself fall apart, only returning to reality to scream abuse at the Gamemakers. That _does _feel real. I remember being swept up into the hovercraft, screaming at the surgeons, the doctors, even my drug-fucked mentor Perrie to save Haymitch at all cost.

I remember how Perrie, even in his delirious state, was calmer than I was. I remember so many things, as we watch the tour. I remember how my time with Haymitch was ticking away, how I thought I'd die and never see him again. Until Katniss Everdeen came along. The Girl on Fire.

I must have spaced out again, because when the room re-focuses, Katniss is waving a hand in front of my face cautiously.

"How long did that one last?" I ask groggily.

"Not long," says Peeta, "Two minutes, maybe?"

"That's normal," I shrug, stretching. Then. "Where's Haymitch?" I ask.

Katniss sighs heavily. "Drunk."

I shake my head, as though trying to dispel water, and stand up.

"I'll go find him," I say.

"Alright. 'Night," says Peeta.

"Yeah. Night," Katniss echoes.

I wander off, giving them a cheery wave as I go. Haymitch is sitting on our bed, completely out of it. How he managed to get so entirely drunk in the space of time it took to watch a replay of our Games baffles me.

"Hey," I say softly, prising the bottle out of his hand and plopping down on his lap.

He doesn't respond. I let my hand gently caress his face, worried for him.

"It's my fault," he says.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"My fault they took you from me. My fault about my mother, and my brother… and my fault you got so messed up. If I hadn't faltered… I could have killed her. Sissia, I mean," he's emotional, which is so uncharacteristic for him that it makes me ache for him.

I shake my head. "No. It's not your fault, honey."

But I know, that nothing I say will change his mindset.

"You are… so beautiful," says Haymitch, and I know he's going to pass out any minute now.

"Why do you stay with me?" he asks.

The question throws me off balance for a moment, and then I smile at him.

"Haymitch, you are my life. Chances are, you'll be my death too. Either way, I love you more than life and death itself can possibly fathom." I say.

He smiles at the familiar words from that long ago interview.

"You're a fool, then, sweetheart," he says gruffly, but he presses a kiss to my lips anyway.

Minutes later, he's asleep, too drunk to be woken. I curl up next to him. He's got my small hand held tight in his own, and that's how we sleep. Two Victors, linked by hands and by hearts.

Together, we must save the Mockingjay. The future of Panem depends on us.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>A longer chapter for you this time. :D<em>

_Tomorrow, I'll start on the next chapter which will be the preparation for the Quell in the Capitol. Okay, guys and girls, I'd really, really appreciate a review. Remember, more reviews equal faster updates. Let's see if we can beat the reviews for The Deal, shall we?_

_I have a question, though. (Seriously, please answer this!) _

What do you think of the dynamics between Haymitch and Anya? What are your opinions on their relationship? Is it believable?

_Okay. That's all for now!_

_Neve_


	20. Chapter 20: Violet, Lavender, & Binary

**The Lost Tribute ch 20**

_Hello everyone! I'm sorry it's been so long! I've been so busy and really uninspired… but now I have a new chapter for you all! I didn't really know how to get from point A to point B, so I've kind of done a little time jump to fix that issue. :) _

_This is sort of a filler chapter. :P I'm easing back into it. _

_review please!_

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

Launch day. I thought we were done with launch days, at least, launch days with Tributes we actually cared about. Clearly not. They have been in the arena for approximately two hours when Haymitch returns to our room. I've got the television on, turned up loud, whilst I sweep the room for bugs. Beetee, the Victor Tribute from Three, is a good friend of mine. He's taught me how to identify pests of the digital kind. I find none, which is good. It means they aren't watching us.

Haymitch strides into our room and flings himself down on the couch, putting his feet up on the table. He's stressed, worried that our plan isn't going to work. The plan is simple in theory. Send bread to Katniss's pack, and the bread signals the day and hour we'll come and rescue them. Peeta and Katniss are not in on the plan, but some of the other Victors are. We're meant to go get them on the third day, at midnight. Plutarch is organizing a hovercraft theft. I'm the pilot.

I sneak over to Haymitch, who's swigging a clear liquid from his pocket flask, eyes on the screen.

"Bastards made the arena a clock," growls Haymitch.

A clock? "What, so like, a different horror per hour?" I ask, sickened.

"Precisely."

I am standing behind him, so I reach out and begin to gently massage his shoulders, easing out the tension. He's been stressed since the Victor Tributes pulled that unity stunt during the interviews. He's also been keeping himself steadily sober, so that he can assist the rebellion in any way possible without worrying he's going to pass out.

"Anya," says Haymitch, tilting his head back to look at me.

"Yeah?"

"Cracked the passcodes that Plutarch sent?" he asks, grey eyes boring into my black eyes.

"I'm working on it. Don't worry," I say, leaning down and placing a kiss on his lips before I climbed over the seat of the couch and plopped down beside him. He slung an arm around my shoulders, and I produced a notebook, pen, and small cardboard box from my pocket.

The Capitol scientists figured out exactly _what _made cigars and cigarettes so bad for you a whole bunch of years ago, before I was even born. So, they altered it and made cigars and cigarettes _without _all the chemicals and disease-causing crap.

I lit a cigarette and curled up next to Haymitch, notebook on my lap, trying to de-code the message Plutarch had scrawled out for me.

Haymitch, I noted, was scowling at me.

"Problem, darling?" I ask, batting my eyelids at him jokingly, blowing smoke rings with my cigarette.

He scowls again. "Anya. How many times do I have to tell you, that's _disgusting,_" he sounds like a parent.

"What, and it's not disgusting when you drink too much?" I fire back, slamming my notebook shut, pocketing it, and standing up abruptly. I stride across the room to the balcony door.

"Aww, hell. Anya, I'm sorry. Come back?" Haymitch calls.

I cheerfully flip him off and then slam the balcony door behind me. I finish the cigarette on the balcony, watching the hustle and bustle of the Capitol going on below us, the Games being broadcast on enormous screens. I can see it perfectly from here.

I blow another smoke ring, pissed off with Haymitch and how he seems to have gotten more and more hypocritical. Then, I remember he's going cold turkey so we can get Katniss out of the arena. This trail of thought _should _make me stub out my cigarette and not light another one. Instead, I stub it out and reach for a second one – indigo colored this time – and light it.

I huff smoke rings into the air, drawing pictures in the smoke with my fingers. The door opens and Haymitch comes to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

"Still pissed at you," I say, taking a long drag from my cigarette.

"Well, smile, sweetheart, because the cameras are watching," Haymitch breathes in my ear.

"What?"

"They're filming us. We'll be broadcast next commercial break," Haymitch whispers, and then he kisses me. It's the sort of kiss he doesn't give me in public unless he's _really _drunk… or we're playing the cameras. I slide one arm around his neck, kissing him deeply. I hear the tell-tale _zooming _noise of a camera lense focusing.

I open my eyes, move my lips away from Haymitch's for a moment. Haymitch reacts faster than me, saluting the camera with his middle finger and then crashing his lips to mine again.

"You shouldn't have done that!" I scold, rolling my eyes.

"Why not? If they've got a shot of you smoking like a chimney, why not one of me flipping them off?" he grins as I process those words.

Oh, fuck. The fact that I have a weakness for violet and lavender cigarettes, the little indigo colored ones, has remained a secret from the Capitol for twenty-five years. Not anymore. I stub out my cigarette.

"It's going to be fucking impossible to buy these now," I groan as we go back inside – the evening air is chilly. Haymitch sniggers at me as we settle on the couch.

"Too bad, sweetheart," he says, satisfied that I may now be forced into quitting smoking.

He's right about one thing – we _are _broadcast next commercial break. Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith comment on Haymitch flipping off the camera, on my smoking, and the type of cigarette I was smoking. Yep. Impossible to get hold of those now. I reach for another cigarette, because I'm bored and worrying about our Victor Tributes.

The box is empty.

_Fuck. _

"I'm going out," I say, standing up as the screen returns to the Games after a few snide comments about my relationship from Caesar.

"Where?" Haymitch asks.

"I need cigarettes," I say, "Call me if the shit hits the fan."

Haymitch grins at me, slouching on the couch, feet on the table. I shake my head and grab my coat, wrapping it around my body. I realize that, when it's just Haymitch and I, I turn into a slob.

I smoke, drink, and swear like a sailor. Then come morning I dress up like a little doll, smiling and pretending to like people so our Tributes can live.

Scowling, I stride outside and slam the door.

Leaving the Games Headquarters, I walk down the street to the closest shop that sells the little indigo things. Since smoking _doesn't _kill anymore, thanks to Panem's scientists, it's become a trend again. They've already sold out here.

Goddamn. Why must the Capitolites always follow the Victors?

It takes me an hour to find a place that still has some Lavender-Violet cigarettes, and I buy a couple of packs just to be sure. When I get out onto the street, I light a cigarette, wondering if my borderline addiction is like Haymitch's alcoholism.

I turn a corner and find myself face to face with a crowd of reporters whose cameras snap pictures of my deep purple trench coat, dark hair, pale skin, and the cigarette I take a drag of. Just to piss them off, I huff smoke delicately into the air, sending a couple of people into coughing fits. A lot of them still pursue me though.

"Anya!"

"Anyarose!"

"Are you and Haymitch still in love?"

"What happened all those years ago?"

"Is smoking your addiction?"

"No, no, smoking isn't even addictive anymore," someone corrects the previous question.

"Anya!"

I consider answering them, and then decide to channel Haymitch.

So, I take a drag of the cigarette, flick the ash to the ground with a gentle tap, smile, and then flip them off, disappearing into my building leaving behind a trail of lavender and violet scented smoke.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

I'm watching Katniss's alliance with Finnick strengthen as he brings Peeta back to life. Thank god. At that moment, Anya comes through the door, reeking of lavender and violets. She ditches her coat on the floor – that's my girl – and dumps a couple of boxes of those damned cigarettes onto the table. She kicks off her boots and curls up beside me.

"Took me so goddamn long to find a packet of cigarettes," says Anya, curling up close to me, "did I miss anything?"

"Peeta died." I say.

"WHAT?" Anya screeches at the top of her lungs.

"Relax, sweetheart, Fish Boy did CPR."

"So he's okay?" Anya sounds worried. Oops.

"Yeah." I say, "now calm down before you have a heart attack."

"Oh. Thank _God,_" Anya snuggles into my chest, kissing my neck gently. We watch the Games together, alternating between sleeping and watching. I let Anya sleep the longest, because as long as she's sleeping, I won't have the smell of those god awful cigarettes under my nose. I watch the first lot of bread be delivered. Excellent. The plan is in motion. And… _yes. _Beetee has the wire.

I zonk out pretty quickly after that, poking Anya awake before I do so. She swears at me but then sits up, alert. I know she'll wake me if I'm needed. Or if she runs out of cigarettes again.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

Haymitch pokes me awake, then promptly starts to snore. _Asshole, _I think to myself.

I get out my notebook and pen, light a cigarette, and get to work on the binary Plutarch sent. It's pretty simple, especially as I worked in District Three for two years in a row, and made friends with Beetee, the smartest guy I know. I flick ash onto the carpet (hey. I live with _Haymitch. _What do you expect?)

I work solidly for a few hours, not even stopping for a cigarette. I'm almost done when Effie Trinket comes barging in. Oh, joy. I pocket my notebook and light a cigarette just to annoy her. Effie smokes the delicate rose-pink ones, and flicks ash into a crystal ash tray. To her, I'm uncivilised.

I take a long drag, and look up at Effie, who's standing there tapping her foot, hands on her hips.

"What?" I ask.

"Care to explain why you and Haymitch made the news yesterday evening?" says Effie, irritably.

I shrug. "It's the Capitol."

Effie scowls. "You are _Victors. _Try to behave as such, Anyarose."

In answer, I flick ash onto the carpet and poke Haymitch in the ribs. It's early and I'm damned if I'm dealing with this shit. I'm about three lines away from cracking the codes, and then we're all clear for grand theft hovercraft. I want Effie to go away, basically.

"Anya?" Haymitch says sleepily.

"Wake up, Haymitch," I say, rolling my eyes and huffing violet and lavender scent in his face. He coughs and splutters, wide awake now. When he regains composure, he sees Effie standing there in a garish green dress and gold wig.

His scowl deepens.

"Piss off, Trinket," he says, reaching for his pocket flask of gin.

Effie scowls in return. "Haymitch Abernathy. _MANNERS." _She exclaims.

I get up off the couch and wander off to get dressed, finishing my cigarette as I go. Haymitch follows, pretending Effie doesn't exist.

"Fine. Whilst I wait for you two to _grow up, _mind if I help myself to coffee?" Effie calls.

"Sure." I call back.

Haymitch and I go into our room and shut the door. We stand there, snickering like children, as we wait. The sound of the refrigerator humming… then…

"UGHH! WHAT THE _-? HAYMITCH ABERNATHY! ANYAROSE!" _Effie screams at the top of her lungs. She's probably found the mouldy cheese.

Come to think of it, neither Haymitch or I have gone to buy fresh milk either. That's probably got a nice layer of mould on it too.

I glance at Haymitch and that's the trigger. We collapse into raucous guffaws.

Effie swears at us, real four-letter words.

"WHEN YOU TWO _GROW UP_, I MIGHT COME BACK!" she bellows.

I poke my head out of the room and get a glimpse of her. She's scarlet in the face. This only makes me laugh harder. Effie swears again then slams out of the room.

Haymitch and I don't stop guffawing for a very long time.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Alright. Longish chapter for you, and the next one will be up tomorrow. I'm sorry if it was kind of a filler chapter, I just wanted to highlight the code that Anya's cracking.<em>

_The code is the passcodes to the Capitol Hovercraft they want to steal to rescue the Victor Tributes._

_Also, _no, I do not condone smoking. _I just think that, in Panem, the scientists would have made cigarettes better, so there's no chemicals and risk of disease. So. Yeah. Anya's a smoker. Haymitch is a drinker. I know Anya's kind of OOC and everything, I'm just easing back into this story. Now I've written lemons for other projects, who wants one featured in The Lost Tribute?_

_Let me know!_

_Love, your demented author. _


	21. Chapter 21: Reconcilliation & Rescue

**The Lost Tribute ch 21**

_Hello, hello! I'm back in business, keen to get this story finished and updated. I might be taking longer between updates but that's because I'm super busy with everything. Still. I'll try to keep up. As usual, you don't get an update after this _unless _I get a sufficient amount of reviews. (I'm in a bad mood). _

_Neve. _

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

Once Effie's gone, Anya crosses to our bed, sits down, and starts working on the code again. I make coffee (no milk) and watch the Games.

"It's day two," I inform Anya. I don't want to bug her too much – I've realized if I annoy her too much, she just shuts me out totally. So I sit and watch the Games, urging our pack of Tributes on, even though they can't hear me. I hear the scratching of a pen on paper, smell those god awful violet lavender cigarettes. I don't nag at her this time because I know she's focused.

It's mid-afternoon when she makes a noise of pure triumph.

"I've done it!" she says, slamming the notebook shut and pocketing it.

That gets my attention. "What? All of it?"

"Yeah. I should be able to hack into their system now," says Anya.

She gets up, crosses to the closet, and selects a dress, a coat and some shoes. She changes quickly and then turns to me.

"I'm going to see Plutarch, you should go to HQ and get them some sponsors." Anya says. Her voice is clipped, stressed, but I'm wondering if everything's okay. She's been short tempered with me for a while, I've felt like things are getting strained between us. Perhaps she's finally had enough of being with me. A drunken bum, good for nothing, hell, I don't even _look _like I used to.

She blows me a kiss then leaves, letting the door slam after her. I debate just staying here and getting drunk, but they need sponsors.

I send them a spile for tree-tapping, and a basket of rolls. That should shut Anya up, whining at me. oh, boy, why am _I _short tempered with her now? I try to pin-point a reason as I walk back to our apartment at headquarters. I think it's because Anya's changed. She's become almost Capitol-esque in her time there, even though she's abandoned the wigs, since we came back, she's been dressing more and more Capitol, and her voice lilts into the accent they taught her.

My girl, my Anya, has become part-Capitol, and I'm too pig-headed to just accept that she's changed. Hell, I've changed. I've let my hair grow to my shoulders in a fit of uncaring, I don't always bother shaving the stubble off my face, and I drink. Above all, I drink.

Damn. That's probably what her issue is. But then again, maybe not, because she smokes those violet things. Maybe she's just responding to my coldness to her. Damn, damn, fuck, damn. Anya's probably contemplating leaving me, because I'm being so cold. That's probably why she…

My thoughts cut off as I down a large quantity of whiskey. I flop onto the couch and wait for Anya to come home. If she comes home, that is. She's probably off smoking those fancy cigarettes and dancing in a Capitol bar with some of the stylists she used to know. Still. I wait.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

I talk to Plutarch in code, and he responds with the correct answer. He tells me that tomorrow, he, Haymitch and I will steal the hovercraft with a couple of others and break the Victors out of the arena. I'm on my way out when one of the stylists stops me. It's Viola, the stylist for District Eleven this year. She used to be a decent friend to me, and used to have District Ten.

"Hey, Rose! You coming to the bar tonight?" she asks, using my old Capitol name.

"I can't Vi." I say.

"Why not?"

"Haymitch needs me."

"Ugh. So it's true, then, you _are _together. I don't know how you can stand him, Rose! He's vile!" Viola says, eyes wide, looking thoroughly disgusted.

"Vi." I say warningly.

She holds up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. But admit it, he's a drunk and that's gross."

Alright. She has a point there. No. Wait a minute. Okay. No. as much as I love Haymitch, Viola is right. It _is _gross.

"One drink," I say, giving up.

"Yey!" Viola squeals, clapping her hands together. Her nails are painted magenta. It looks nice.

"_One, _Vi," I warn as we head for the Capitol Bar.

Two hours and several drinks later, I lean against the bar as Vi comes back from the ladies room with a guy walking next to her. She doesn't look like she's chatting him up though, so I assume that she's trying to set me up with a guy. Great. (Note my heavy sarcasm).

"Rose, this is Tempest," says Viola.

I give the guy a once-over. Dark haired. Sober. Green eyed. Dressed _way _too Capitol. The exact opposite of Haymitch. Haymitch, who I suspect despises me more with each passing day as I show my Capitol side.

"It's nice to meet you," I say, "But please excuse me. I need to get home."

Viola rolls her eyes. "Rose. Seriously. Leave the drunk. Find a _fun _guy," she says.

This makes me see red, and makes me realize I will _never _become like these stupid, shallow people.

"First off, Viola, I happen to love 'the drunk'. Haymitch is a wonderful man and I'll never want anyone else but him. Second, I'm not like you, Vi. I'm not a Capitol girl." I try to keep some composure as I say this.

Viola shakes her head in disgust. "You're such a District girl, Rose."

"Anya," I correct, annoyed, and then without waiting for any further response, I slide off the barstool and head for the door.

Xxxx

When I get home, Haymitch is wasted. This doesn't surprise me. What _does _surprise me is that he isn't so wasted that he's incoherent. He's slouched there, feet on the table, and I suspect he's waiting for me. Probably to yell at me because it's my shift to watch the Games so he can pass out.

"You here to tell me you're leaving?" Haymitch slurs.

I stare at him, bewildered. _Leaving? _What?

"Leaving? What do you mean?" I ask, confused.

He stands, and I realize he's more sober than I thought.

He stands in front of me, a kind of urgency burning in those grey Seam eyes.

"Give it to me straight, sweetheart. Just tell me you're sick of my drinking, sick of my treating you like shit. Tell me I'm a hopeless case, sweetheart, but be quick when you break my heart," he says.

I realize what he means now. He thinks I'm leaving him. Weird. I thought he was leaving me!

"I thought you were leaving me," I say, confused.

"I'll never leave you, Anya, unless you kick me out," he says, half grinning at me.

In response I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him til we're both out of breath.

"I don't care if you drink, or if you treat me like shit. I love you, Haymitch, and nothing can ever change that," I whisper against his lips before he kisses me again, his arms around my waist, drawing me closer to him.

"I'm sorry I've been so cold," he says, but I shut him up with another kiss, partly because I know I've been cold too.

"Shut up," I tell him, unbuttoning his shirt, "and love me."

He smirks. "Yes ma'am," he says, voice husky.

xXxXx

When I wake in the morning it takes a minute for me to remember it's the third day in the arena for our friends. Time for grand theft hovercraft, I remember.

Haymitch is still asleep, peacefully for once, and I feel bad for having to wake him... well… for a couple of seconds. Then I push aside that guilt and trace circles on his chest, which, as predicted, wakes him up.

"Like what you see, then, sweetheart?" he asks, smirking.

"Definitely," I reply cockily, trailing kisses from the place over his heart, up his throat, along his jaw, finally kissing the edge of his lips.

"Feeling like being a tease this morning?" Haymitch asks, smirking.

"Clearly," I smirk, kissing his lips. He responds by pulling me on top of him. I smirk, kiss his neck, and then shift away.

"We have work to do," I inform him.

Haymitch mumbles something that sounds very much like _tease._

I lightly slap his arm and roll onto my side. I'm tired still, and a few more hours sleep… lips on my neck stop all thoughts.

"I can think of better things to do," Haymitch tells me.

I give in.

xXxXx

Much later, respectably dressed and ready, Haymitch and I arrive at the rendezvous point where Plutarch and Fulvia are waiting with a small group of our fellow rebels.

"Good to see you two," says Plutarch.

It's early evening. I'm buzzed and ready for this, the codes memorized and stored on a computer chip as a backup. We sneak into the warehouse, dodging Peacekeepers.

"Right," says Plutarch as we reach the designated hovercraft. There aren't many hovercraft left in the Capitol. Most, Plutarch informs us, are in either District Two or District Thirteen.

Sweet. Not only am I stealing a Capitol hovercraft, I'm stealing a _rare _Capitol hovercraft. Haymitch sees the gleeful (_manic) _look on my face and turns to Plutarch.

"Maybe I should drive?" he suggests.

Plutarch shrugs. "Do you know the codes?"

"Um. No."

"Then I still have dibs, darling," I sing and dance past the others to the pilot's seat.

I think Plutarch is regretting letting me drive as soon as we're up in the air. I tend to drive like I'm evading pursuit _all the time. _

"Hey, Anya, maybe…"

"Shut up. Driving."

Plutarch sighs heavily. "We're three hours away from the arena. Slow down a little, Anya, else we'll be there before midnight."

"We want some leeway, right?"

"About five minutes worth, Anya, not an hour."

I check my watch. It's eight o'clock. Okay. I step on the brake slightly, slowing the hovercraft down to a Capitol-esque glide.

" Okay, so I suppose it doesn't look like we stole it now," I huff.

Plutarch nods, "Exactly."

xXxXx

At five to midnight, we're in position. We sit, silent. Haymitch and Plutarch are waiting to drop the ladders. Fulvia is waiting to help pull up the Victors.

At exactly midnight, the explosion goes off, blowing the force field to dust. It's all a blur after that, Haymitch shouting at me to drop the ladders. I do it, quickly, but we've only hauled up Finnick, Katniss, and Beetee before the Capitol hovercraft arrive. I think they must keep some close by in case of emergency, and of course to remove dead Tributes from the arena.

"Shit! They're shooting at us!" Plutarch shouts over the din.

Haymitch and Fulvia drag an unconscious Katniss over to the rebel medics on board. They sedate Finnick and set to work fixing Katniss and Beetee who are both badly injured.

"Anya," says Plutarch, standing right at my side, "can you get us out?"

"What about Peeta? And Johanna?" I ask, remembering my other friends who are still down there.

"It's too late. We can try to save them later on! Let's get out of here, _NOW_!"

"He's right," it's Haymitch, looking defeated, "We can save them later."

At Haymitch's words, I stomp on the accelerator and this time I really do drive like we're evading attack. We get shot at a few times, but a couple of people man the guns and return fire.

"Stop shooting!" Haymitch shouts, "We're trying to knock them off our trail not entice more!"

They turn to look at me and I nod. "Cease fire!" I order.

It takes an hour or so to knock them off our trail, destroying whatever follows us that we know to be enemy craft. I set a very round-about course for Thirteen and then pass the helm over to one of the soldiers from Thirteen that was sent to assist us. His name is Boggs, I think, Thirteen's second-in-command. There's just something about him that assures me I can trust him.

So he relieves me of piloting and I join Plutarch, Finnick, and Haymitch in a small room. Twelve's been bombed to the ground, they tell me. The survivors are fleeing. Thirteen will send craft in to retrieve them when it is safe. They tell me not to tell Katniss yet.

I'm about to tell them to send craft in to save people _now, _but the door opens and Katniss comes in, looking completely wild and disoriented. What's that in her hand? A syringe? To my surprise and chagrin, Haymitch starts to laugh darkly.

"So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? This is why we don't let you make the plans," he says, and then drops the joking act, "Drop it."

Katniss obeys and drops the syringe. Plutarch gingerly picks it up and puts it in a metal box, pocketing it.

"Sit down," says Haymitch before Katniss can say anything.

He explains the plan to her, tells her why she and Peeta weren't in on it. He tells her we are on the way to Thirteen. Then, finally, he tells her that Peeta has been captured by the Capitol. That illicits some response from her. Katniss lunges across the table, her only weapon her sharp nails, which she proceeds to rake down one side of Haymitch's face, leaving long, deep cuts in their wake. Blood drips down his face.

He swears profusely and then they're screaming abuse at each other, their voices mingling into incoherency, and I struggle to be heard above the din.

"Plutarch! Finnick! Get her out of here!" I shout, and the two men restrain her, take her to her room, have her sedated. They return with a first aid kit and then leave us alone. Haymitch is still bleeding, still swearing, and when he sees me thread the needle, he growls a string of abuse at me.

"Would you prefer I just let you bleed out?" I ask sarcastically.

Haymitch scowls and removes his hand from his face, letting me stitch the cuts carefully.

"Where'd you learn to stitch?" he asks.

"Capitol stylist for twenty years," I remind him. He grins, mutters something about my imprisonment having at least taught me something useful. I slap his shoulder and carry on with the sutures.

"Should I tell her?" I ask, "About Twelve, I mean?"

I apply some of the healing ointment to the cuts. They might scar faintly, but there won't be any permanent damage.

Haymitch shakes his head. "Naw. We'll leave that to Gale."

xXxXx

So we leave it to Gale. We've only been in Thirteen a couple of days when they arrive, the refugees from Twelve. Gale goes straight to see her, Katniss, I mean, and he's there when she wakes. So am I, for that matter. I'm there when he looks her in the eye and gives her the bad news without the sugar coating.

"Katniss. _There is no District Twelve._"

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Okay. So, a longer chapter. I've updated twice now, so please review, guys and girls. I haven't given up, I've just been busy, and uninspired, but because we're at the <em>Mockingjay _part of the story, it'll pick up again fairly quickly because I can speculate a lot of it because Haymitch isn't there much to begin with because Katniss is still super pissed at him, and vice versa. _

_Go read my other stories? The Victors and The Princess and its sequel, The Capitol Games. _

_So, please review. Or, I won't update again for ages. :P_

_Yes, I'm fishing for reviews. But you all seem to have given up!_

_Neve. _


	22. Chapter 22: Morphling Addict

**The Lost Tribute ch 22**

_Alright, so a couple of lovely people have reviewed, thank you so much everyone! :D if you have any questions or comments, feel free to review or PM me. I'm happy to answer any questions you may have in regard to my stories. :3_

_This chapter begins in _Mockingjay, _right at the beginning when everything's sort of slapdash. _Mockingjay _obviously begins a month or so into Katniss' stay in Thirteen. This chapter covers the first month there. Slight warning for drug reference/usage. _

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

I am woken by a roar of frustration coming from the room next door to mine. I assume from this that the sobriety being forced upon Haymitch is not going so well. I sigh heavily, tumble out of the military-grade bed, brush aside my short braids, and dress in my sweater and combat trousers, both grey in color. My formal shirt and t-shirt (both grey) remain folded in the drawer. I shove my military boots on my feet and pull the braids off my face with a strip of white cloth bandage. Satisfied, I leave my room and walk the few paces to Haymitch's room.

He's pacing, irritated. I take in his appearance. In the two weeks we've been here, he's lost a _lot _of weight, so he's thinner than I've ever seen him, though I guess he must be training somehow because his muscles are still fairly well defined. Then I see the big hole in the wall and smirk. He's been boxing the wall. Great.

"Hey," I say lamely, because I can't think of anything better. I cross the room to stand beside him, keeping a short distance between us. He glares at nothing, doesn't look at me.

"Hi, Anya."

I reach out and lock my fingers with his, keeping the rest of my body a good two feet away from him.

"You okay?" Haymitch asks me.

"Sure." I say.

Haymitch knows me, so he knows when I'm lying or not. He also knows that if I don't want to talk about something, I won't.

At the moment, our relationship is a vicious circle of one of us trying to keep the other stable. I know that if Haymitch loses the stability he's managing to maintain, then I will lose any sanity I possess and my grip on life will fade away until I become the suicidal wreck again.

xXxXx

**Haymitch**

I can't take this anymore! I'm about ready to _kill _something for some booze if necessary, but the barely masked depression lurking in Anya's eyes holds the thirst at bay. I become worried that if I slip away into drunken oblivion, I'll wake up and find Anya hanging from a tree. She even told me herself that's how she'd do it. No more screwing about with razors. Once, we talked about this, when we were first reunited. I told her if I was going to die in the war, I'd want to die on my own terms. Anya sighed and told me the trees in District Seven are beautiful, and she wanted to die in a tree. She sang me a stanza of The Hanging Tree.

"_Are you,_

_Are you,_

_Coming to the tree?_

_Where I told you to run,_

_So we'd both be free…"_

"Shut up, please," I said, "I hate that song."

She smirked and kissed me lightly before continuing:

"_Strange things did happen here,_

_No stranger would it be, _

_If we met up at midnight,_

_In the Hanging Tree…"_

I shut her up with a kiss then, but I knew that just because the song had stopped out loud, it was still going in her head. That's what worried me the most, the faraway look in her eyes. Of course, that was probably the Morphling too. I didn't realise she was using the stuff til we got to Thirteen and they screened us. She pouted when it came up in the test at an abnormal level.

"I haven't used for weeks… days…" Anya trailed off and the medics ordered an immediate detox. I laughed at her til they said alcohol was banned here. Still. We've made do. I trade her some Morphling pills for the small amounts of liquor she can convince Boggs to smuggle in.

When I feel her hand grab mine, I'm pulled back to the present day. I don't let her go, I pull her close, wonder how long we'd both last without our pitiful supplies of booze and drugs.

"Haymitch?" Anya says.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"I managed to get this for you," she hands me a bottle of white liquor, the good stuff. I'll have to ration it (_like that's gonna happen)_.

I also know what she wants in exchange for it.

I roll my eyes and rummage in my pockets for the tiny bottle of morphling pills. They're small white pills, about the size of a piece of white rice, only round. I keep all my Morphling supply on me at all times, because I know Anya's not stupid enough to try and pickpocket me.

They give her a very small supply to keep her sane enough to function, but she must have gone through her measly supply already. Jesus. Her addiction's probably getting worse. I resolve that I'll go cold turkey with her too, because I'm not giving her more drugs after this.

I take a swig from the bottle and watch her swallow both pills dry. It takes a minute for the drug to start shooting round her system, so I get comfortably buzzed and watch her.

She visibly relaxes when the Morphling does its thing.

"Druggie," I accuse lazily.

Anya snorts at me, flops onto my bed, and laughs.

"Why do you think they don't let us room together?" she says. It's a rhetorical question.

I shrug, humouring her.

"Because you're a drunk and I'm too drug fucked," Anya hoots with laughter. I can't handle her when it's a bad trip. Usually, the Morphling just makes her calm and relaxed, but sometimes it agitates her and makes her depressed and paranoid. I sit beside her, putting the bottle on top of the drawers.

"I think it's more to do with the fact that they don't want us making babies," I say, guffawing.

Anya's gaze hardens and I realize that's hit a nerve somewhere.

"Sorry." I say.

She shrugs, stretches, and zonks out on my bed. Great. It's not even 9 AM and she's stolen my bed. God damn it.

xXxXx

I take another swig from my bottle, then when I turn around it occurs to me that nobody falls asleep that quickly. Which means she probably passed out. Only, her breathing has gotten laboured. Oh. Shit. She's overdosed.

I lift her into my arms, realizing for the first time how tiny she is, and carry her to the infirmary, which is just around the corridor. They take one look at her and confirm she's OD'd.

"How much did she take?" they ask.

"Two pills," I say, "Morphling."

I see aghast expressions and then they whisk her away, leaving me standing in the lobby.

A nurse comes to explain to me a bit later on. . She looks vaguely familiar. Then I recognize her – it's Primrose Everdeen, Katniss' sister.

"Morphling pills are stronger than the liquid form. One pill equals five liquid doses. They don't know if she's going to make it as of yet." Prim says.

Oh god. What have I done?

xXxXx

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><p>Please review!<p>

Mwahahaha! Cliff hanger. So tell me. To kill off Anya, or not to kill off Anya... ;P

REVIEW!


	23. Chapter 23: You're Too Difficult To Save

**The Lost Tribute ch 23**

_Hello! Another update, though this _really _is the last one until I get some reviews. I'm getting a bit annoyed because some people's stories have over 100 reviews, and mine have sod all. So. Clearly this story isn't good enough. Don't expect any more updates for a while until you guys can be bothered giving feedback. It's a two-way street. I'm sorry if I'm being really moody. I just don't like feeling ignored, unappreciated, and like I'm a bad writer. _

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

I dream of Perrie, of Apple, and of Posy. I asked Plutarch to fly them in on the next shipment of Capitol rebels. I wonder if they'll be here when I wake up. Or maybe they sided with the Capitol. I doubt that Apple and Posy would side with Snow, I remember their distaste for the Games way back when _I _was a Tribute. I'm not sure about Perrie though. He was born in the Capitol, and even though his distaste for Snow's rule has grown over the years, I don't know if it's enough to pull him into the Rebellion.

I'm starting to hate being asleep – why can't I open my eyes? It's like I've been drugged. Ugh. I force my eyes open, finally succeeding. I find the three of them sitting there, my old mentor, the two stylists I worked with whilst imprisoned, to be honest, three of my best friends. Posy reacts first, hugging me like my mom would if she was still alive. They told me she died in the bombing of Twelve. My sister, they say, married a Capitol man a few years ago and hasn't been seen since. Good riddance. Bluebell never was a great person, as shown when she didn't volunteer for me at my Reaping.

"Hi guys," I manage.

Perrie manages a half-smile, though I can tell by his pale face that he's suffering withdrawals from whatever his vice is. He hasn't aged much since I last saw him – the only difference is there's some silver in his brown hair, blending with the mint green. He's still using the walking stick, and I realize my last guess on his age was wrong. I once guessed he was sixty, but when I add the figures together, I realize he's only about fifty-five. Apple and Posy, both at least fifty now, don't look it, so I figure they had their DNA altered like mine. When Posy lets go of me, she and Apple excuse themselves on the excuse of taking a walk. That translates to; _we'll leave you alone so Perrie can kill you._

Perrie, I realize, must have had a relapse, because last time I'd seen him, he was off drugs.

"Were you trying to kill yourself again?" Perrie doesn't sugar coat stuff.

"No," I say, "I was just trying to get buzzed."

Perrie sighs heavily and stands up. I think he's leaving me in disgrace for a minute, but then he picks up the thick grey blanket at the foot of my bed and drapes it round my shoulders. Huh. Guess I was shaking.

"Never thought I'd see the day you were more drug-fucked than I am," Perrie says, using his customary colourful term for what we are. It sounds better than _druggies _though.

"Huh," I say, "No way that's possible, old man."

Perrie chuckles wheezily at me, and I honestly wonder if he's dying for a minute. Maybe my fear is displayed on my face too visibly, because he grins at me.

"This, my dear, is the aftermath of breaking a Cocahdain addiction," says Perrie.

Cocahdain. An old drug, older than Panem, the true name lost over time. Finally I know what has Perrie in its grasp.

"Hey, Perrie," I say, "Did I nearly die?"

I don't know what makes me blurt it out. Maybe the weird dreams, or the relief on their faces when I woke up.

"They sure thought so for a while," he says grimly.

I resolve to quit, cold turkey, and do something _useful _around this place rather than sit around doping myself up at every given opportunity.

xXxXx

Later, I'm hauled into Command to be assigned a squad. Coin puts me on the Mockingjay Squad, tells me to get my ass down to Special Defence and get cracking. Boggs is going to be training me in private for a while to catch me up to the rest of the squad. Great. Perrie walks me down because apparently Haymitch is detoxing from booze cold turkey and isn't fit for public at the moment. I don't think my appearance would do him any good either.

"You've been asleep for two days. Highly doubt they'll have you doing anything but throwing some knives around," says Perrie as we step out of the elevator. Once we pass the numerous security ports, we step into a room that instantly reminds me of the training centre back in the Capitol. Except there's no observation balcony.

Boggs swaggers over wielding a machine gun. He dumps in into my arms, and I stare blankly at it for a moment before Perrie speaks up.

"She OD'd a few days ago, woke up half a day ago, and you're now giving her a machine gun?" he says, perplexed. Boggs shrugs.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Well, for one, she's a drug addict. For second, she's a lunatic!" Perrie says.

_Well, thanks, Perrie, _I think. That's it. I'm an adult now. Perrie can't talk down to me anymore. I load the machine gun, point it at the targets, and open fire.

I make a mess of the walls, but I manage to hit a few targets in the bull's eye. I'd do better with my knives. I turn to point this out to Boggs but find both he and Perrie gawking at me like I've just learnt to fly.

"What?" I growl irritably.

"You're still a damn good shot, kid." Perrie says gruffly, "but she'd do better with knives," he adds for Boggs' benefit.

Boggs acknowledges this but also senses my growing frustration because he points toward the exit.

"Goodbye, Perrie," he says forcefully.

Perrie gets the hint and leaves quickly, though I get the feeling he'll drill everyone for information later. I scowl.

"Here," Boggs relieves me of the machine gun and hands me a belt of knives.

"Beetee's working on some special knives for you, stuff that ordinary knives can't achieve, like explosions, fire, and poison." Boggs says as I test the weight of one knife.

"Sweet," I say, and, still looking at Boggs, I ditch the knife. It nearly hits the bull's eye. _Nearly. _I'm an inch off. If that.

"Not quite a crack shot," Boggs says, "but still good."

"I never threw knives unless I had to," I say.

Boggs nods. "I know. I saw your Games. I'm only five years older than you, you know," he says.

It takes a moment for me to remember that biologically, not counting the fact that the Capitol fixed my DNA to make me young looking forever, I am forty.

"Think you can still do what you did then?" Boggs asks.

I shrug. "I'll give it a go," I say doubtfully.

Turns out, in Thirteen, they have moving targets. Human shaped. No more hanging dummies and sending them flying to catch and kill. These move of their own accord.

I'm still a little sluggish from the Morphling overdose, but I'm still fast, fast enough to catch the target, leap onto its back, and cut its throat with such force that I decapitate it.

"Feisty," someone says. It's Haymitch!

I leap off the headless dummy's back and land on my feet, like a cat.

"You're alive, then," says Haymitch as I approach him.

"Seems like it." I say awkwardly.

"Same can't be said for that thing," Haymitch jerks a thumb at the headless dummy. I imagine the dummy to be Snow, and I feel a rush of vicious anger.

"Wish it was Snow," I say bitterly. Haymitch grins.

"Nah," he says, "You're too tame."

And then his grin drops and he pulls me into his arms. My knife clatters to the floor as I fling my arms around him, suddenly so very thankful to whoever saved my ass up in the infirmary.

"I thought you were going to die," he says, sounding _almost _close to tears. Almost.

"So did I," I admit.

"Was that what you wanted?" he asks bitterly.

I shake my head. "No."

"You have to quit," he orders me.

"I know," I tell him, "I am."

He smiles and kisses my forehead. "That's my girl. Now, get your ass back over there and train."

I smile and daringly kiss his lips before I retrieve my knife and get back to work.

xXxXx

By the end of the day, (AKA dinner time) I've gotten back into the practise of sneaking up on my victims and swiftly disposing of them. Because I know it'll be Peacekeepers or Capitol soldiers that I'll be fighting, I don't exercise control over how brutal I fight.

It is Boggs who suggests we spar in hand-to-hand combat before we leave for dinner. Haymitch, who has been watching from a corner of the room, guffaws at this idea. I feel a tad pressured. Yes, I used to be able to throw a good punch. When I was sixteen and in the Arena. Now, I'm forty. I don't know if I can possibly still fight. Then I remember that my DNA, my entire system, is twenty-five again. Will be twenty-five for a _very _long time. I remember that when I'm eighty I'll look fifty. Maybe less.

"Alright," I say, putting the knives away in the cabinet among lots of other weapons. I love this place now, resemblance to the Training Centre aside. Boggs thinks Beetee will be done with my knives within a couple of days – he's still fine-tuning Katniss' mockingjay bow. I've seen that, and it looks badass. There's no other word for it.

Boggs doesn't give me any warning, he just lunges at me, as a real assailant would do. I react on impulse alone, swinging my left arm to parry the blow he's about to deliver to my jaw. Knocking his arm aside, I get in a good punch to his gut, only to receive a swift kick in return. I'm amused by the fact that Haymitch is probably going mental watching this, and I wonder what he'll do to Boggs if the latter knocks me out. I don't like to speculate on this.

_Bam!_

I cop a punch to the jaw. Swearing profusely, I tackle Boggs and we grapple on the stone floor. Haymitch is guffawing again, because he knows I have the upper hand. One punch upwards, and I knock my superior out cold.

I sit on the floor for a minute, unsure of whether to be worried or to laugh raucously. A few minutes later, Boggs regains consciousness and he grins at me woozily.

"That the hardest you can hit, Soldier Riverstream?" he asks, getting to his feet and wobbling a bit.

"Haymitch, come help," I say as I reach out and let Boggs lean on my shoulder.

"I'm good," Haymitch says, guffawing at the sight. I scowl.

"Told you she'd kick your ass, Boggs," says Haymitch.

"Shut up, Haymitch," Boggs and I say in unison.

xXxXx

We go up to the infirmary, laughing all the way. I like this feeling of normality. Boggs reminds me of my dad a little. I don't really remember my dad all too well. He died when I was ten. But we used to spar, laugh, and he was the one who taught me to use a knife. When we get there, we're met by Primrose Everdeen, who checks Boggs over and determines that he isn't concussed, he'll just have a slight headache. As we're trooping out again, Boggs, Haymitch and I, Prim calls after us.

"How did you get knocked out anyway?" she asks.

"Anya and I sparred. Turns out this one can kick ass pretty impressively, for a lunatic," Boggs says, mock punching my shoulder. I return the hit, laughing. Prim burst into laughter, her tinkling laugh joining our raucous guffawing.

xXxXx

Boggs doesn't come with us to the dining hall. He goes off to Command because his communicuff has sent him some urgent message or another. So that leaves me and Haymitch. We go off to dinner together, hand in hand.

"So how's sobriety treating you," I ask.

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. "It's shit," he says bluntly.

Fair enough. That's how I feel about my Morphling addiction, and from the look on his face, he's guessed my thoughts again.

"Do you ever think…?" I trail off.

"That we're too fucked up to be together?" Haymitch finishes, "Yeah, Anya. All the time."

I stare at him, shocked. He explains.

"I think of you, with your addiction and your depression. And I keep thinking, you need someone who's strong enough to protect you. I can't do that all the time, and it kills me, Anya."

I stare at him, stopping dead in the hallway.

"Are you… leaving me?" I ask, haltingly.

Haymitch doesn't meet my gaze. "I think it would be best," he says, still looking anywhere but at me.

"What? Why?" my voice is choking, pathetic sounding.

_Don't cry, Anya. Don't you dare! Then you're just proving that you're weak!_

"Because I can't protect you. Look what happened, Anya. You nearly died and it's my fucking fault!" he exclaims.

I shake my head in disbelief.

"You told me you'd never leave me. That you'd stay with me forever, until I kicked you out," my voice shakes. He lets go of my hand.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to break that promise, sweetheart," he says quietly.

"Please," I say.

I can't believe I've been reduced to begging. Pleading. But he must know, surely, that if he leaves me, I will die. That I won't last one week without him. Perhaps he simply doesn't care anymore. Perhaps my drug addictions, my suicidal tendencies, my depression, the whole fucking caboodle, has gotten too much. Perhaps I'm not the same girl anymore.

He watches me war with myself in my mind.

"I'm sorry, Anyarose."

It's the first time he's called me that for years.

"You love me," I test out the words, haltingly, like they're a question.

"Not anymore, Anya. It's gotten too hard to love you and protect you at the same time," he says quietly.

That's the point where my mind shuts down, where my capacity to _feel _shuts off. Where I stop caring. Where nothing matters anymore.

I think he says sorry again. I think he kisses my forehead. I close my eyes but don't dare to shy away from this last touch, the last touch he will ever bestow upon me. I think he says goodbye, though this is ridiculous because we'll see each other every day here. I don't open my eyes. I listen to him walking away, and I wonder if Haymitch Abernathy ever loved me at all.

xXxXx

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><p><em>Who saw that one coming?<em>

_So, what happens next, guys? Does Anya attempt suicide again? Will Haymitch come back to her? What will happen now?_

_Review! I may give spoilers!_

_Neve_


	24. Chapter 24: Necklace Of Rope

**The Lost Tribute ch 24**

_Well, hello there! Looks like I had you all hooked. I know you all want Haymitch to come back and for everything to be okay… buuuuuut…. Not happening. At least. Not now. :P thank you so much to all those reviewers out there. Keep going!_

_Neve_

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><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

I stand there like an idiot until his footsteps fade away. When I can no longer hear him, I open my eyes and stare blankly ahead.

I don't go to dinner. The thought of eating anything seems mildly repulsive to me now. I don't go back to my room either, because I know that's the first place they'll look.

Instead, I crawl into a nook behind an air vent and stay there. I wonder how long it will take for someone to find me. I wonder if they'll even notice that I'm missing. I really want a cigarette or some Morphling, though this time I don't want the Morphling for recreation. I want it to numb the aching, hollow pit in my stomach. In my torso. I wonder for a moment if my body is finally failing from drug abuse. I decide that I don't care.

xXxXx

I guess I fall asleep, because when I open my eyes again, someone's sitting next to me. It's Katniss. I figure maybe my boot wasn't tucked behind the vent. Or maybe I've stolen her hiding spot.

"What time is it?" my voice sounds odd. Detached. If she notices, she doesn't comment.

"Almost midnight. Why? You okay?" she asks.

I nod, then force a smile onto my face. It's time to go.

"Goodbye, Katniss," I say, and I stand up, walk away. I don't look back.

xXxXx

My room is cold and dark when I walk inside. My bed is neatly made, because I've spent the past couple of days in the infirmary. I don't want to be here. I want to be warm, and safe, and loved. But now, not even Haymitch can love me.

So what use do I have anymore?

All my barely suppressed emotions and fears come flooding back to mind. The song that plays on a loop in my head deafens me, though nobody else can hear it.

_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three. _

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

I imagine that I am the man they strung up for murder. I've killed people before, in the Arena. It's almost midnight. Though I know that if I die, nobody will come after me.

_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where the dead man called out for his love to flee. _

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

If I called out, yelled for Haymitch to come and save me, or to die with me… would he come? Would he do either? No. Of course not. I'm _too difficult to save. _

I rummage around under my bed for the rope I brought with me from the Capitol. Nobody knew about it. Nobody questioned it, because all my suicidal antics happened when I was _Rosie. _

I stare at it for a moment.

_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free. _

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it seem_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

Perhaps I should have tried harder to convince Haymitch that we'd both be better off dead. That we'd be safer. No matter. Maybe I'll be safer now. Maybe he will be safer now he won't have to protect me. Boggs will be disappointed in me – he'll miss having a sparring partner who can actually kick his ass.

_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree_

_Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me. _

_Strange things did happen here_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

It's midnight. I want him to be here. Safe with me.

I throw the rope and tie it to the bar on the ceiling. Whoever had the brilliant idea of installing a metal bar to the ceiling clearly didn't take suicidal, drug addicted, lost people into account. I give the rope a jerk, testing it. It looks like it will hold.

I reach for the chair by the window, drag it across the room. I climb up, though that's hard because I'm shaking like all hell. It takes me a while to tie the noose, but finally I'm done.

"_Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me," _I whisper, and then I kick the chair out from under me and wait for the end.

xXxXx

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><p><em>Is that it? Is Anya dead this time?<em>

_Obviously she's always been suicidal and on edge. This time, losing Haymitch, has kind of pushed her completely over the edge. She's not thinking anymore, she, to be honest, doesn't care whether she lives or dies. So, whether she _does _die or not is obviously a secret. _And, _ I may even decide not to update further today! :D_

_Reviews save Anya!_

_Neve_


	25. Chapter 25: Isn't Something Missing?

**The Lost Tribute ch 25**

_Oh yeah, I'm feeling the love! :D This chapter starts with Haymitch POV then goes onto Katniss and then finally onto someone else. You'll learn what happens to Anya now! :D I don't think you'll see this one coming either. A lot of you are saying you didn't see the break up coming. That means I'm doing my job well! :D_

_Reviews = updates!_

_Neve_

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><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

I watch Anya as she spars with Boggs.

_This can't go on. _I hate myself for thinking it but I know it's true. I cannot love Anya, protect Anya, fight the war, and try to keep Katniss alive.

I'm starting to think that, to be honest, Anya and I are too alike right now to function properly. She's recovering from her latest overdose, training to be a soldier. I'm an alcoholic with a fairly high position among the hierarchy of people fighting the Capitol.

Don't get me wrong, I still love Anya. I always will. But her time in the Capitol has changed her, and I've changed too. We just cannot function as a partnership anymore.

And so, I make up my mind. I wait til Boggs heads off to Command.

"How's sobriety treating you?" Anya asks, her old Capitol accent slipping into place.

"It's shit." I say bluntly.

She smirks bitterly.

"Do you ever think…?" she says, trailing off.

"That we're too fucked up to be together?" I finish, "Yeah, Anya. All the time."

She stares at me, shocked. I figure that's not what she was going to say. But I _needed _to say it.

"I think of you, with your addiction and your depression. And I keep thinking, you need someone who's strong enough to protect you. I can't do that all the time, and it kills me, Anya." I try and justify my outburst, and she becomes progressively more shocked as she processes what I'm saying.

She stops dead in the hallway.

"Are you… leaving me?" her voice sounds funny, like someone's choking her.

I can't look at her. I need to do this. To keep her safe. To keep myself safe. For the sake of this war.

"I think it would be best," I say, still not looking at her.

"What? Why?" her voice is definitely panicked now. This here is a reason why I need space.

"Because I can't protect you. Look what happened, Anya. You nearly died and it's my fucking fault!" that part is true. I gave her the Morphling that stopped her heart for a minute. I cannot protect her, and if I stay with her, I may just kill her.

"You told me you'd never leave me. That you'd stay with me forever, until I kicked you out," Anya says, her voice bordering on hysteria. I realise I'm still holding her hand. I drop it, because I know that if I hold on any longer, I won't ever be able to let go.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to break that promise, sweetheart," I say, and I have to lower my voice to stop it from shaking.

"Please," she says, that one simple word that is _almost _my undoing.

She's warring with herself in her mind, trying to hold onto her remaining sanity. I have to end this.

"I'm sorry, Anyarose." I say.

I never call her Anyarose.

"You love me," she says the words like a question. It kills me, but it's for the best.

"Not anymore, Anya. It's gotten too hard to love you and protect you at the same time," I say. The first part is a lie. The second part is true – it's hard trying to keep her alive and love her.

I watch her mind shut down in front of my eyes. Watch the lights dim behind her black eyes, watch any sanity she possesses drain away. She doesn't hear me when I say I'm sorry. She doesn't feel me when I kiss her forehead, forcing myself to keep it to kissing her forehead because if I kiss her lips I'll never be able to go through with this.

I force myself to step away from her. She still hasn't opened her eyes. I force myself to walk away, though I'm very aware that I may not have saved her. I may have just condemned her.

I force myself to go to dinner. I don't eat much, and Katniss that Anya isn't there. She guesses what has happened right away and sends a stream of curses my way before she stomps off to find Anya.

xXxXx

**Katniss**

Something isn't right. Anya's too calm as she walks away from me, leaving the sanctuary of behind the air vent. She's too calm, too resolved. Haymitch has left her, and I realize her plan mere moments later. S_uicide. _

I only reach this conclusion when I hear her singing _The Hanging Tree _under her breath. It's code, I realise, because in her slightly psychotic state, Anya's oblivious to anything.

_Midnight. Hanging. _

Oh, shit.

I don't know who to run to. Peeta isn't here, Gale doesn't care about Anya, and Haymitch has just discarded her like she's nothing. I rack my brain thinking, and thinking quickly. Then it hits me like a lead balloon.

_Boggs! _Anya's superior, her sparring partner. He can probably get to her. I round the corner and, by a stroke of luck, nearly collide with Boggs.

"Boggs! You have to help Anya!" I manage to get out.

"Slow down, Soldier Everdeen. What's wrong with Anya?"

"She's going to kill herself!" I exclaim.

Boggs immediately springs into action, striding down the hallway and motioning for me to keep up. I have to jog to keep up.

"Did she give you any clues, Katniss?" he asks urgently.

"She was singing _The Hanging Tree,_" I say.

I don't expect him to get it, but he does, because he glances at his watch.

"It's two past," he says, and starts to sprint. I have to run full out to keep up with him, keeping an eye on the time as we run. We shove people out of the way, running like crazy, and when we burst into the room, it's four-and-a-half-past midnight.

The sight that greets us isn't pretty. Anya's tiny form, dangling by her throat from a rope hanging from one of the metal bars that supports the ceiling. The chair she stood on is kicked over. For one heart-stopping moment, I think we're too late.

Boggs is one step ahead of me, pulling his knife from his belt and passing it to me, righting the chair and supporting Anya's weight in his arms.

"Cut her down," he orders me.

I climb onto the chair and do as he says, cutting the rope like I cut the branch to drop tracker jackers on the Careers in my first Games. Anya's shaking form drops into Boggs' arms. She's not dead, but she slips into unconsciousness the moment she lands.

"Brain damage?" I ask.

"Possibly," Boggs says, "but unlikely. Another thirty seconds and she would have been damaged badly. Right now, she's just going to be bruised."

We take her to the infirmary, give details, say how long she was hanging there for. They take her away to surgery, to pump her body full of anti-depressants and other chemicals.

"Why'd she do it?" Boggs asks, "she was alright earlier."

"Haymitch left her. Said he didn't love her anymore." I don't know how I know this. I think it's because I know them both well enough to know what would bring out this reaction.

Boggs punches the wall. "I'll be back," he says, "when she wakes, I want to know about it, alright?"

I know he's not screwing around. Boggs has a soft spot for his protégée. I wouldn't want to be Haymitch right now, that's for sure.

In fact, I'd be willing to bet Haymitch swings by here soon, most likely with a broken nose and perhaps even a cracked tooth or two. The thought is oddly comforting.

"Give him a right hook from me!" I call after Boggs.

xXxXx

**Haymitch**

I'm in my room, wishing more than anything for a drink, when the door opens and Boggs comes in. I get the feeling he's come to beat the crap out of me.

"Anya must be in a bad way, for you to come looking for me," I say, standing up and facing him. Boggs snorts in contempt.

"In a _bad way_?" he repeats, "Katniss and I just cut her down from a noose she'd been swinging from for four and a half minutes. I'd say that's a bit worse than _a bad way_," Boggs doesn't shout at me, which is, in a way, worse.

"She's dead…" I say, "Oh god, she's dead."

I killed her.

I sink onto my bed, my head in my hands.

"She isn't dead yet," says Boggs, "But they don't know the extent of her injuries."

I don't say anything for a minute.

"You gonna hit me, or?" I ask eventually.

"You're a selfish fuck, Abernathy, you know that?" says Boggs, and I get the satisfaction of a couple of punches to the face and then a superb right-hook to the jaw that knocks me out cold. Great. Well, at least I don't have to live with the guilt until I wake up.

xXxXx

**Anyarose**

I feel like I'm flying. It's a weird feeling, made even weirder because I can't see where I'm going. All I can feel is floating. I go to take a big gulp of air and find that I can't. Something's choking me, I think I'm going to die…

And then I feel like I'm falling, I land with a thud, and everything goes black.

xXxXx

When I open my eyes, I'm lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by strange people. I identify one as a doctor, and there's a girl with grey Seam eyes and a braid, and a guy with grey hair and blue eyes. I blink at them.

"Memory loss," the doctor is saying, "we don't know how long for, but try to help her out. Some of it will come back to her quickly, but some will take time."

The man and the girl thank the doctor and the doctor leaves.

"Where am I?" I ask.

So many questions. I don't know where I am, who they are, or my own name. Or my age. Or who I am. What I do for a living…

"You're in District Thirteen," the man says. For a minute, I'm reminded of my dad, then I remember my dad is dead.

"Thirteen? I'm from Twelve."

"Twelve was bombed," says the girl with the braid.

Okay. Must have been part of…

"The war!" I say, "we're fighting the Capitol!"

"Very good," says the man patiently. I just stare blankly.

"I'm sorry," I say, "I don't know your names…"

"I'm Katniss Everdeen," says the girl with the braid. Her name sparks a memory.

"The Mockingjay!" I say, remembering vaguely.

"Yey! You remember me!" Katniss looks genuinely pleased, so I figure we must have been friends or something. Another word swims to the surface of my foggy mind. _Mentor. _

"I won the Hunger Games," I say, "Which one?"

"The fiftieth," says Katniss.

"Who are you?" I ask the man.

"I'm Boggs."

"Is that your first name?"

"Nope. I'm your superior. I've been training you to use your knives again." Boggs says.

Knives. I think about them for a moment, visualize holding a knife in my hand, throwing it into a tree. I didn't ever throw knives much.

"When can I start training again?" I ask.

Boggs laughs. "When you get all your memories back," he says.

"All of them?" I pout, "that could take years!"

Boggs considers this. "True. Well, we'll wait til you're stable, okay?"

"Promise?" I narrow my eyes.

"Promise," he laughs. Definitely like my dad.

Satisfied, I consider more things and remember something else.

"I was fast." I say.

Boggs nods. "Faster than anything I've ever seen."

Wow. I must have been amazing.

"What's my name? How old am I? What do I do?" I ask, blurting out the worrying questions.

"Your name is Anyarose Riverstream, but you like being called Anya. You're twenty-five years old. You run fast and sneak up on victims and enemies. Your weapon of choice is a knife. You're a soldier in training, Boggs' protégée." Katniss explains carefully, and I nod, remembering it all.

Anyarose. I have a nice name. I'm twenty-five? Weird. Thought I was older.

"I thought I was older?" I say.

"You were, until the Capitol did some work on your DNA to make you essentially young forever." Katniss says.

"Did I consent to the work on my DNA?" I ask.

"By the sound of it, you sort of did, but President Snow didn't give you a whole lot of choice," says Katniss.

I didn't think so.

"Umm.. Anya? Do you remember how you got here?" Katniss asks tentatively.

I think about it for a moment. I remember a dark, cold room. Something around my neck. The sense of floating. A few lines from a poem or a song of some sort.

"I… tried to hang myself?" I say, confused. "Why would I do that? I'm a Hunger Games Victor, right? A soldier! Why would I want to die?"

Katniss and Boggs exchange looks.

"Do you remember what happened?" Boggs asks.

I shake my head nervously. "No?"

"She hasn't mentioned Haymitch once…" Katniss whispers, but I still hear her.

I blink, confused. Haymitch? I can't put a face to that name. I scan the foggy files in my mind. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

"Question?" I say, like I'm back in school.

"Yes, Anya?" says Boggs.

I think about it for a moment. How to word it.

"Who's Haymitch?" I ask.

Everything gets very quiet then.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Alright, so you didn't think I'd <em>kill _Anya did you? So I chose to keep her alive, but all her memories of Haymitch are GONE. Whether she regains those memories or not is a mystery. Obviously, she won't for a while, and we'll focus on her life as part of the Squad. Obviously some of her memories will come back along the way. Haymitch is going to get a shock! Ahaha_

_Please review guys, or no update! You know the drill!_

_Love,_

_Neve._


	26. Chapter 26: Lover Is Childlike

**The Lost Tribute ch 26**

_Third person this chapter. Thank you so much reviewers! Keep it up!_

_Neve _

* * *

><p>Boggs and Katniss stare at Anya worriedly for a moment. Everything else seems to be coming back slowly, some of it she remembers. The fog in her mind isn't as heavy as first assumed.<p>

And yet… she doesn't recall Haymitch. She cannot remember who he is, or that he is the reason she has lost her memory. All she knows is she's saner than she was before, and that _The Hanging Tree _has stopped playing in her head.

She cannot remember her Games, so she does not remember that Haymitch was her co-Victor. She does not remember him being part of her childhood. It is as though her entire memory of him has been erased. At first, Katniss suspects this has been done deliberately, but when Anya makes one small comment, she dismisses this theory.

"Wait… isn't he the town drunk?" Anya asks, biting her lip.

Katniss nods, because what else can she do?

Anya is confused. Why would the town drunk be of any significance to her? Why would she care? She cannot even remember what he looks like.

"Why should I remember him?" Anya asks, confused.

Katniss and Boggs exchange looks and then decide to give her a sketchy account.

"Well, he loved you," says Katniss.

Anya processes this then wrinkles her nose delicately.

"Did I love him?" she asks.

"Yes. Very, very much," says Katniss heavily.

This amuses Anya. _I couldn't possibly love a drunkard._

"So what happened?"

"You broke up. He wasn't kind about it. Now you're here. Go figure," says Katniss shortly.

Anya processes this too. _It's his fault! _She realises, _I tried to kill myself because of him?_

"It's his fault," Anya says quietly.

"Technically," says Boggs, and mutters something that sounds like _insensitive selfish fuck. _

Anya is pleased that someone else dislikes Haymitch.

"Do you want to meet him?" asks Katniss.

Anya stares at her like she's completely stupid.

"No. I want him to stay the _hell _away from me!" Anya exclaims angrily.

She blames him, and the others understand why completely.

xXxXx

Boggs goes back to Haymitch's room to tell him that Anya is alive. Haymitch is sitting on his bed, a tortured expression on his face. Boggs suspects that's from lack of booze rather than worry about Anya.

"She's alive, Abernathy, no thanks to you," Boggs informs him.

Haymitch stands. "Oh, thank God!" he says, looking relieved. He goes to leave but Boggs holds out an arm and stops him.

"First off, Abernathy, she doesn't want to see you."

"That's bullshit! I need to see her!"

"Even if I took you there, she doesn't remember you!" Boggs snaps.

Haymitch is stunned. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"I mean, she suffered severe memory loss from her little stunt with a noose," says Boggs.

Haymitch grimaces. "She doesn't remember me?"

"Nothing. Except for the fact that you're the town drunk and you broke her heart."

"She blames me," Haymitch says flatly. It isn't a question.

Boggs nods and shrugs.

"Can you blame her, Abernathy?" he asks wryly.

"No. Of course not." Haymitch sits back down, "let me know if things change. Please?" he hates to beg, but he misses Anya. He wants to apologize. To tell her he'll find a balance. That he loves her.

But now, she can't remember him. She resents him.

"You said you wanted to protect her, Abernathy," says Boggs, voice not as harsh now.

"Looks like I got that wish," Haymitch says bitterly.

xXxXx

They keep Anya hospitalized for a week or so, and when she's finally discharged she can remember her way around Thirteen. Sort of. Boggs draws her a map, and offers to lend her one of the digital maps if he can get clearance. Anya laughs at him.

"They'll never give clearance to the crazy girl," she says, smirking.

Boggs grins. "I'm sure I can fix that," he says.

Anya is grateful, because she knows he's dodging 'the system' for her. She isn't sure what exactly 'the system' is, but she's willing to bet it's important.

xXxXx

Anya crosses pathways with Haymitch when she and Boggs are walking to Special Defense for her first training session. _Attempted _training session. Anya eyes Haymitch warily but doesn't react. Doesn't say anything. Why should she? She doesn't remember him. The men bicker. Anya stares blankly.

Boggs seems to think training isn't a good idea after all, and sends her off to lunch, before stomping off to Command. Anya drifts off to find Katniss. Haymitch stares after her.

xXxXx

Anya goes to the 'dining hall' for lunch, walking with Katniss because she's still unsure of so much. The 'dining hall' is crowded with people, and Anya notices a lot of them stare at her and at their Mockingjay as they walk into the crowded hall. Anya only recognizes two people: Prim, who looked after her when she woke up, and Haymitch. She only _vaguely _recognizes him, but there's no big memory trigger, no tearful reunion. People keep looking at her almost expectantly. It makes Anya anxious. She can't even remember what she looks like – they won't let her near a mirror – and they expect her to remember Haymitch?

Anya knows her throat is bruised to hell, which is why they've covered the mirrors. She knows she has dark hair, braided into hundreds of thin twists. She knows she is pale, because when she holds her hand near her face, she can see the pale pigment of her skin. But she doesn't know the color or shape of her eyes. She can't remember how tall she is. So many faces.

_I used to know them all, _Anya thinks desperately, and she vows to get her memories back, no matter what. They watch Anya and Katniss as the two girls cross the room, sit in a corner with their full trays. It takes Anya a moment to realize that she doesn't recognize a _single thing _on the tray. There's some kind of cream-colored liquid. Anya thinks it's called _soup _but she's not too sure.

Then there's a round, almost dirty looking vegetable, baked by the look of it. Anya has no idea what it is, and that frustrates her because whatever it is, it smells delicious. So she nudges Katniss and asks what it is.

"That's a potato," Katniss explains patiently. A woman at their table, with dark hair and Seam eyes, puts in – "It's bland but good for you."

Anya asks her name, feeling pitiful.

"I'm Hazelle," says Gale's mom. Anya introduces herself and they shake hands.

Everyone goes back to eating in silence. Anya eats carefully, like a child trying new food for the first time. In a way, she's almost childlike now.

Anya discovers that she likes turnip soup and baked potatoes, and cheerfully finishes the lot. She sets down her knife and fork and realizes Haymitch and Katniss are arguing in low voices.

She hears her name and goes on the defensive at once – she doesn't trust Haymitch. At all.

"_She doesn't trust you," _Katniss is hissing.

"_She doesn't have a choice. I know more about her than any of you!" _Haymitch snarls in a low voice.

Anya interrupts. Just because she forgets things, doesn't mean she's incapable of her own decisions.

"What are you saying?" she asks.

"Nothing," Katniss says hurriedly. Anya scowls.

"No. It wasn't nothing. What did you mean, Haymitch?" she asks, hesitating on his name because she isn't sure why she nearly died because of him.

Sometimes she sees him looking at her in agony, sees a flicker of an old passion that would make her blush if she could remember how to. Somehow, she wonders if she can perhaps trust him, just a little.

"I know things about you, Anya, that nobody else does," Haymitch says, "and I can help you remember them."

Anya hesitates. She wants to know. She wants to remember. They say she loved him more than her own life. She wonders if, to get that feeling back, she will have to fall in love with him again. Right now, the idea seems alien to her. _Love _is out of the question. She is too muddled, her mind too foggy. She wants to remember.

"Teach me," she says.

Haymitch looks at her, stunned. "Are you sure?" he asks.

"No, she isn't," Katniss says.

Anya scowls. "I _am _sure. Help me, please," she almost pleads, because if she knows one thing, it is that Haymitch probably _does _know her. And if he knows her, knows her mind, then she wants his help. She isn't happy about it, but she knows it is necessary.

"Of course, sweetheart," says Haymitch, and then he slouches off before he does something stupid and soft-assed, like cry.

In a way, her childlike state scares Haymitch. She should be in the infirmary, not walking around with a gun. He considers going and yelling at Boggs again, but then recalls that Boggs is like Anya's father. And that, if he values his life, he shouldn't do that.

He fucked up, big time. But now he can fix it. He can make her better.

He ends up at the infirmary, where he asks a doctor why she can't remember him.

"The drugs we gave her targeted the things making her so depressed. Naturally it wiped her Games out, and every memory of you that became too painful."

_So, basically, the whole lot, _Haymitch thinks bitterly.

"The other memories were only temporarily lost. She will regain them again rapidly."

Haymitch scowls. "What about the other ones?"

"They will come back eventually, not as vivid as they once were, but she may remember eventually. My advice to you, Soldier Abernathy, is if you want her back, you're going to have to get her to fall in love with you again. Rebuild that relationship right from scratch."

Haymitch smirks bitterly. "Seen me lately, Doc?" he says darkly, "Not exactly top on the list for most girls."

The doctor chuckles wryly. "Anyarose isn't _most girls, _is she?"

With that, the doctor dismisses him, and Haymitch leaves the office with a new sense of hope in his chest. Anya has decided to trust him a little, let him teach her. And for now, that's good enough.

Haymitch vows to himself as he walks towards Anya's room that he _will _get her back eventually. He will bring her back to him if it is the last thing he ever does.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Shorter chapter, I know. But I'll update again latertomorrow, so you'll get the next part soon enough. Thank you _doctorHolmestuck _for the advice on the extent of brain damage Anya would have suffered. I hope I've explained the selective amnesia well enough with the drug. :P_

_Please review guys and girls, or I may decide to abscond for a few weeks again and leave this story hanging on the edge! Nah, I'd never abandon the story, but seriously, review. Please?_

_Neve._


	27. Chapter 27: All My Memories Keep Me Here

**The Lost Tribute ch 27**

_First, I want to thank _everyone _who has read, reviewed, favorited and assisted with the creation of this story. It means so, so much to me. Second, if it doesn't inconvenience you, will you please go read and review _The Victors and The Princess _and its sequel, the Capitol Games?_

The Victors and The Princess _ends with a happy ending, and the sequel is more AU, though to be honest I think the 'canon' ending is more AU. The reason I'm asking is because I had some rather rude person telling me what a god-awful story and plotline it was. This is coming from a person who hasn't even posted any of their own stories on here. So that's actually upset me quite a lot and I sent them a message asking them, if they hated the story so much, why did they waste their time leaving mean reviews? I also told them not to let the 'back' button hit them in the ass on the way out. Eh. So, yeah. Please go do that for me? _

_Love, Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

I am nervous about my first 'lesson' with Haymitch. I still don't trust him enough to be around him for extended periods of time. I argue with myself in my head all the way to his room.

_This is _ridiculous, _the old Anya wouldn't think twice. She trusted him… _I argue with myself…

_But look where that got her. _

I ignore that pesky voice and carry on, pausing twice to study the map Boggs drew me. I feel like a complete idiot, standing there with the map under my nose.

"Hey," a tall, muscular, bronze-haired guy I don't know says, "If you're looking for Haymitch, you're going the wrong way."

I blink and scowl. If this guy's trying to trick me…

He sees my scowl and holds up his hands in surrender.

"Seriously," he says, "you're going the wrong way. He's in _Conference Room 70_."

I blink, search for Conference Room 70 on the map. When I locate it I look up at the guy.

"Thanks." I say grudgingly.

"Want an escort?" the guy's tone has an edge to it, to the point where he sounds _almost _perverted. Almost. Not quite. I don't think he's the sort of guy who'd do _bad things _to a girl like me, but I still don't like him all that much.

"No thanks," I say, and make to stride off. He keeps pace with me easily. I start to feel a bit worried, so I ignore him until I am just a few doors away from Conference Room 70.

"Is there a reason you followed me?"

"You remind me of Annie…"

I don't know who Annie is. I don't know who this guy is. But it's pretty clear to me that he's off his rocker.

"I'm _Anya. _Not Annie." I say, because this guy's crazy, and I'm just confused.

"You're still pretty, Anya," he says.

I raise an eyebrow. "What sort of man hits on messed up girls like me?"

The guy smirks. "A guy like me, who's equally as messed up."

The door to Conference Room 70 opens, and Haymitch strides out. Automatically I hide behind him, shocking both men.

"Leave her alone, Finnick," Haymitch tells the crazy guy.

The crazy guy, Finnick, gestures surrender and traipses off down the hallway. Haymitch turns to me.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks me worriedly. I shrug.

"Sure," I say, shrugging.

"Want to tell me why you hid behind me?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I shrug. "I remembered when you wanted me to be safe."

Pain spasms across his face, though he tries to hide it. I feel bad for a minute, then quash that feeling. If he cared, he wouldn't have let me hang.

I go to brush past him, but he gently catches hold of my hand. His hands, larger than mine, calloused, comforting, are familiar to me, though I've never held his hand in this mind. The old Anya did, though, hundreds of times, and she screams in triumph at this breakthrough.

"Anyarose, you need to know this before I teach you to remember anything," Haymitch says quietly.

"Need to know what?" I ask.

"That I never once stopped loving you. Ever. I was trying to protect you, Anya, I swear. If I'd known, I'd never have left you. When Boggs told me they thought you were going to die, I believed you'd already gone. Please. Forgive me." Haymitch speaks the truth, that much I can tell.

I stare for a moment, warring in my head with the memories that come out of the fog. They're distant, some of them don't make sense.

"I forgive you," I say, and he breathes a sigh of relief, "but I don't love you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Please. Understand that, and respect it."

He nods at once, "of course, sweetheart."

xXxXx

Haymitch teaches me how to play a game we call _Real Or Not Real._ The rules are simple: Haymitch says something, trying to coax back my memory. I rack my brain searching for it, and if I find the memory, I can tell him if what he's said is real or not real. Sometimes I don't remember at all, which means he's either bullshitting me or I just don't remember. It's pretty even matched.

Sometimes I ask him things that I think could be memories and he tells me if they're real or not.

"Our first kiss was in the meadow at Twelve. Real or not real?" Haymitch says.

I hate questions to do with the old Anya and Haymitch. I'm not her. Not yet.

But I answer them because I _know _this one.

"Not real." I say, and before he can praise this, I add, "It was behind a tree near my house."

Haymitch nods, prompts me to continue.

"We were… thirteen?" I realise I have said _we _rather than _they. _

"Eleven." Haymitch corrects.

_Eleven. So young. So innocent. So in love._

I remember us then; Haymitch, young, strong, handsome. Wavy blonde hair, grey Seam eyes. Me, with my dark braids, pale skin and black eyes.

_An alien beauty. _That's what he'd called me when he'd kissed me that first time. We were just children, but we were already inseparable.

"You called me an alien beauty," I say. Haymitch nods.

It's been two weeks since I tried to die. Two weeks since I lost all my memories of Haymitch. But now, with this one day with him, I'm regaining the buried memories, even simple ones like this.

"Alright," he says, "try this one."

I wait for it. "Bring it on," I challenge, smirking. He smiles, and I know he's happy that I'm happy.

He hesitates then.

"Haymitch?" I say, worried. "What's wrong?"

He sighs heavily. "Maybe I shouldn't try to bring back the memories. They only hurt you when you had them. You're healthy now. Maybe I should let you be."

I shake my head fiercely. "I'm still in here somewhere, dammit, Haymitch!" I say, shocked at the outburst of words that just seem to form on my tongue, "and I'm damned if I don't remember."

A ghost of a smile flits across his face.

"That's enough for today, Anya. I'll ask next time."

He doesn't though. He doesn't ask it, and I know that if I want to know, I'll have to broach the topic with him. Three weeks pass. Four. We stick to mundane things, but I piece together our relationship and start to feel a fire kindling in my heart. A fire that's been dormant for a while, but is eager to burn again.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Six Weeks From The Start Of Anya's Lessons With Haymitch<em>

"Haymitch. What were you going to ask me, six weeks ago?" I'm doing much better now. I'm strong enough and he knows this, because he continues. He's going to tell me about my Games, maybe. Though I can remember some of it.

"Alright. The day before the Reaping, when we were sixteen, I brought you a basket of apples that I poached from the Hob. Real, or not real?" he says.

"Real," I say, remembering the apples, remembering my shock at the rarity of apples and my marvelling at how Haymitch had found so many, that marvel turning to disapproval once I learnt how he had acquired them.

_I'm alone in the house, trying to tell myself that I won't be Reaped. That Haymitch won't be Reaped. Though, it's a Quarter Quell. There are twice the amount of Tributes._

"There were four Tributes, the year of my Games. Real?" I ask.

Haymitch nods and I lose myself in the memories again.

_The door swings open and I reach for the carving knife on the table beside me. I always have a knife with me. I don't trust Bluebell, my sister, or her friends. They are the Scum of the Seam, selling themselves to the Peacekeepers and officials for money. My sister is the most successful one. She never gets Reaped. _

_But it's not my sister or one of her fellow prostitutes, or one of the disgusting boys (or men) that come to our house in search of her. _

_It's Haymitch. Blonde, grey-eyed, tall, strong. He grins at me and sets a small basket of red apples on the table. He knows I like these, that these are my favourite. We came across them on a trip into the forest. We never found them again._

"_Where did you find these?" I ask. _

"_Abraham Everdeen had some. I traded some stuff for it."_

"_Some _stuff_?" I raise an eyebrow. Haymitch grins._

"_Alright, I swiped some stuff from the old man. Like he'll ever notice."_

_I laughed, and we ate the apples together, trying not to think of the Reaping. _

The Reaping. My mind cuts to it right away, and I'm hurtled into another memory.

"_Anyarose Riverstream!"_

_My sister doesn't volunteer, just stands there smirking with her crowd of eighteen-year-old friends, fellow prostitutes, and worse._

_The Scum smirk at me too. I go to stand beside Maysilee and grimace when the first male Tribute is a little boy called Thom. And then they're calling Haymitch. _

_Haymitch was my fellow Tribute. _

How is that even possible? Then the fog in my mind clears and the memories flood in. I remember the hollow tree. The force field. The axe. The little girl, Scarlett. The girl from Seven who I killed. I remember it all, and when I finally force the mental flood gate closed, I speak, one simple sentence.

"We won the same Games." I say, "How?"

"Last two standing. They changed it, because of the doubled amount of Tributes."

"You did something with a force field." I remember.

"And then Snow kept you in the Capitol, faked your death, and you worked as a Stylist." Haymitch says bitterly.

"I remember the working in the Capitol part, all of it, except the parts featuring you." I say.

There is silence for a moment and then another memory surfaces.

"_I love you, sweetheart," we've jumped forward to our reunion, Haymitch holds me in his arms, the same age he is now. He kisses me sweetly, and I snuggle into him. We are together. Two halves of a whole. _

"We were so happy. So perfectly imperfect," I say, and for the first time I feel bitterness at my situation. Haymitch shrugs.

"That's one way to put it, sweetheart. It wasn't all love and joy all the time. I drank. You took drugs. Real or not real?" he says.

I grimace, remembering the tracks on my arms that faded because I only used a syringe once or twice. I remember the feel of the Morphling as it hit my system.

"Real." I say. Haymitch nods in agreement.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Few Days Later<em>

"Did you ever save me?" I ask.

"Once, when you OD'd."

"Not real. You saved me before then, in our Games." I say, remembering the tree. Haymitch grins.

"You're getting better, sweetheart."

"I'm getting there."

There is silence for a minute. I watch him, remembering how I used to know _exactly _which place on his neck to kiss. I remember how he always knew what I was thinking.

Maybe he doesn't anymore, even though I've stopped referring to myself as 'Old Anya' and 'New Anya'. There's just… _me. _A patchwork. But, nonetheless, the same person.

"What are you thinking?" Haymitch asks.

"What, right now?" I ask.

"Yeah."

I grin and try not to blush – I remembered how! – because I was thinking of Haymitch, of how his lips once felt against mine.

"I was thinking that if I were to kiss you right now, you'd send me away." I say, half-truthfully.

"What makes you think that?"

"You told me you didn't love me."

"I lied."

"You're a good liar." I grimace, and scoot closer to him.

"I know," he says, half-ashamed, half-amused.

"That isn't a good thing." I tell him. He laughs.

"Anya?" he asks, quietly. I'm close to him now. Too close, by my usual standards.

"I just wanted to try something." I tell him quietly, before I press my lips to his. I haven't forgotten how to kiss, and as soon as his lips move against mine, I deepen the kiss. One of his arms loops around my waist, pulling me close, the other hand tangles in my hair. I loop my arms around his neck and kiss him like there's nothing else keeping me alive.

He pulls away for a moment, only to ask me, "what are you thinking now?"

I smile. Half of the memories are still gone. Memories can be erased, but true love can only be quelled for a while.

"I'm thinking that, even though I can't remember half of the details, half of our lives together, there is nothing that can change what I _know _is concrete fact right now."

"Which is what?"

"That I love you. That I have _always _loved you, and a little thing like severe memory loss cannot change that. If you reject me, that's okay. Don't pretend to love me for the sake of my sanity."

Haymitch smiles wryly.

"I thought breaking away from you would protect us both. Save us both from each other. When, really, I can't survive without you, Anya. I need you. In all truth, sweetheart, I love you."

And then his lips crash onto mine again and we drift into oblivion together, two halves of a whole.

We're not perfect, and I can't guarantee I'll ever be wholly myself again, but with Haymitch beside me, I feel more like myself than I have in two months.

Now, I've gained enough memories, and now, I have Haymitch back. So I can focus on what's important: helping Katniss, our Mockingjay, win this war.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Is anyone confused? Hope not. If so, PM me, and I'll explain to you :3<em>

_Short breakdown of chapter:_

_First part is Anya's lesson with Haymitch, where they breach dangerous waters and he tells her that he'll tell her next time. He doesn't. _

_Six weeks pass, Anya's improving greatly. She asks Haymitch and he tells her a few memories which trigger the entire Games to come flooding back. _

_A few days later Anya realises that she still loves Haymitch, she always will, and they kiss and reconcile. Sort of. It's going to take a lot of work for them to rebuild._

_Whilst it might seem that Anya has her marbles back, that's not the case. Yes, she remembers a lot of things, but she suffers PTSD, bi-polar, and possibly a form of schizophrenia. Or rather, she did, before the memory loss. Remember, either of those three disorders could trigger at any moment. I think I've exhausted the Anya's-depressed-and-suicidal-again plotline, so if anything triggers it'll be the PTSD or the schizophrenia._

_How did she end up bi-polar? The arena, and she probably had the genetics for it. _

_How did Anya get PTSD? Again, the arena. The amount of violence and gore she's seen is enough to traumatize her for life._

_And finally, schizophrenia: Anya was a drug addict. Morphling makes you hallucinate, and dozy, and because of her bipolar, PTSD and the meds she was on for them, something went wrong in her mind and she ended up schizophrenic too._

_The voice in her head sings _The Hanging Tree _over and over, but sometimes scares Anya by telling her that Haymitch, and, recently, her other friends, are dead, such as Katniss and Boggs._

_So, if the voice comes back, Anya may just be screwed._

_Tune in for next update! Please review, and tell me, would you prefer the schizophrenic voices or the PTSD to plague her?_

_Neve. _


	28. Chapter 28: Black And Gold

**The Lost Tribute ch 28**

_Whoo! Another chapter for you all. This chapter picks up from where Katniss goes to Command and agrees to be the Mockingjay. Woo-oo. :P Anya's schizophrenia makes a brief appearance in this chapter. :S _

_Review!_

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Katniss<strong>

When I rock up to Command in the morning, ready to tell them all my decision, I get a surprise. Haymitch is there, sober and not looking like a wreck. But he's not alone. Standing beside him is Anya, tiny and wide-eyed, but definitely looking less foggy.

I observe that their hands are linked and I can't stop the smile that breaks across my face.

Anya gives me a wave.

"I'll be your Mockingjay," I say, because I've decided that now.

I proceed to list my conditions: the keeping of Buttercup, the pardoning and protection of my fellow Victors once rescued, as well as the ones that are here now. And, of course, _I kill Snow. _

"I'll flip you for it," President Coin says wryly.

"And it has to be announced in public. All of this – my being the Mockingjay, and the conditions." I add. Coin shrugs, and I take it as an agreement.

"Alright. We'll gather everyone together in the meeting space later on."

I nod. "Well," I say, "if that's all…"

"You may go, Soldier Everdeen," Coin dismisses me.

I stride out, Gale following. I keep wondering if I've made the right choice.

xXxXx

**Anyarose**

We're all ordered to show up at the Meeting Hall later on, so Coin can publicly announce that Katniss is the Mockingjay now. Everyone who already knows seems so keyed up for this, so excited that we have rested all hope of winning this war on the shoulders of a seventeen year old girl.

Am I the only one who sees this?

Haymitch stands close to me, protectively. I like the feel of his arm around my waist, his hand resting just above my hip. I like the feel of closeness.

"So, you're feeling better, then?" it's Finnick, the guy who freaked me out six weeks ago.

I nod hesitantly. "Yes," I say, "Much."

"Remember who I am yet?"

"One of my fellow Victors, and a pain in the ass," I reply flippantly.

Finnick grins and we exchange high-fives. Haymitch rolls his eyes.

"Aww, come on, Mitch, don't be a killjoy," Finnick pouts.

Haymitch slugs him across the shoulder.

"Don't call me Mitch, Fish Brains."

I snort with laughter at the two men. They look at me, and I hold up my hands, gesturing I'm staying out of it. This makes them smile, because it's something I did before I lost all my memories.

"Can I call you Mitch, honey?" I ask sweetly, batting my eyelids. Finnick roars with laughter and Haymitch scowls.

"Thanks a lot, Finnick," he grumbles, but he doesn't mean it.

I join in the sniggering and Haymitch frowns.

"Alright, I give up. Oh, shit. It's Katniss." Haymitch notices Katniss coming our way. They haven't spoken since she clawed his face.

"I'll leave Anya with you then, Finn," says Haymitch, "but if you touch her, I'll break your fingers."

Finnick closes his mouth. I hoot with laughter, and Haymitch frowns before sidling off just as Katniss reaches us.

"Hi," she says, and then looks at Finnick, then at me.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing," I say, though Finnick's still guffawing.

xXxXx

I find Haymitch after the announcement. Actually, truth be told, I have to go looking. He's in his room, pacing. The threat that Coin tacked onto Katniss' deal wasn't part of the plan. He's worried about that.

"You okay?" I ask, sneaking up on him and wrapping my arms around him. If Haymitch is surprised by the affection, he doesn't say anything. His arms encircle me.

"Hmm. Worried."

I grimace. "Know the feeling," I tell him. Haymitch smirks.

It's about then that the voice shows up. The voice hasn't bugged me for a while, but today it's decided to make an appearance.

_Don't trust him. Do it! _

I flinch.

_He doesn't love you. He doesn't care. You're _nothing!

I think I make some pathetic whimpering noise because Haymitch looks at me in concern.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"Y-yes. I'm fine." I say.

_Oho, lying now, are we? Well, maybe that's for the best! He'll just leave you. Maybe you should go first? _Do it.

GO AWAY, I think desperately.

"Anya?"

Oh shit. I've said it out loud.

"Anya? Is the voice back?" Haymitch asks worriedly.

I ignore him, fighting the voice that plagues me.

_Huh. You killed me, Anyarose. It's only fair you live with me forever, _the voice continues. It's then that I realise the voice belongs to Sissia, the girl from Seven who I killed in our Games.

Leave me alone. Please. I'm sorry!

"I'm taking you to the infirmary," says Haymitch.

_Well, well. Looks like you're just another lunatic._

I'm not crazy! I'm not.

"Anya. Shh. You're safe. It's all in your head."

I can't hear him anymore.

xXxXx

**Haymitch**

She falls to the ground, shaking, pleading with herself, the voice in her head that she once told me sounds like the girl she killed in our Games. I'm starting to wonder if, when the Capitol screwed with her DNA, they did something to her that caused her to hear voices. I carry her to the infirmary and then message Boggs, telling him to get his sorry ass down here to keep an eye on her. As for me, I go find Beetee.

He's down in Special Defense.

"Hello, Haymitch. What can I do for you?"

I explain my theory and Beetee listens carefully, nodding and making small noises of interest.

"You may be right. However, to fully test that theory, I'd have to hack her Capitol file and find out what they used on her." Beetee says, hands skimming over the keys of his laptop.

"Can you do that?" I ask.

"I can sure as hell try." Beetee says.

I doze off whilst waiting. Boggs messages me a couple of times, telling me that Anya's stopped arguing with herself.

Beetee's swearing under his breath – looks like Anya's file is one of the protected ones.

"Any progress?" I ask.

"Some," says Beetee, "Though they're very protective of her file, which automatically makes me suspect something's not right there."

I scowl, sit up straighter, 'cause I was slumped down in the chair.

"So they've fucked with her brain, you mean?" I say crassly.

"Well, I would put it more eloquently, but, yes, Haymitch. It seems so." Beetee nods, pushes his glasses further up his nose, and types away. Naturally, this irritates me. A lot.

"Are you nearly done, or what?" I ask irritably. Beetee scowls, getting just as annoyed with me as I am with him.

"No, Haymitch. It's going to take a while."

God damn it.

xXxXx

**Anyarose**

When I come to my senses again, I'm in the infirmary. Boggs sits beside my bed, twirling what looks like a cell phone between his hands.

"Oh, good, you're awake," he says, and taps out a message on the cell phone.

"Where's Haymitch?"

Boggs looks up from the cell phone.

"Down in Special Defense, with Beetee. They think, when the Capitol reprogrammed your DNA, they messed around with your brain and programmed you to be haunted by the voice of the girl from Seven." Boggs says.

Hang on. They think I'm some sort of Mutt.

"I'm a Mutt?"

"Not really, just an experiment."

I process this.

"I'm still bipolar, though?"

"According to Beetee, the bipolar and the post-traumatic stress is real. But the schizophrenic voice was programmed by the Capitol. Beetee thinks an antidote is possible. He's working out what chemicals they used by hacking the government files." Boggs explains.

I process this too.

"Beetee can get rid of the voice?"

"Sure seems like it."

I am incredibly grateful about this.

_Not getting rid of me!_

_Shut up_, I tell Sissia's voice.

I must have spoken out loud again because next thing I know, I'm drifting back into unconsciousness. Great.

xXxXx

**Haymitch**

Beetee wakes me by punching my shoulder. He's waving a bottle of something in my face, and it takes a moment for me to register what it is.

"Is that the chemical?"

"Half of it, yes. The other one's in my pocket. She'll have to be sedated."

I roll my eyes. This _really _isn't what I need at the moment – there's a _war _going on for god's sake.

Still, we go on up to the infirmary and find Anya waiting for us, cross-legged on her bed.

"Is that it?" she eyes the gold liquid in the bottle.

"Half of it," says Beetee, and he sets the bottle on the bed. He removes a small vial of black liquid from his coat pocket. Anya wrinkles her nose.

"That's the other half? Do I have to _drink _that?"

"Did you drink the chemicals the first time?" Beetee asks.

"Nope, they knocked me out and injected – oh, hell." Anya's expression becomes grim. She hates needles.

"You won't feel a thing, and when you wake up, the voice _and _your bipolar will be gone." Beetee promises.

"Are you going to mix the drugs?" Anya asks.

"We'll give you an initial shot of the gold one, then the black one, then a dose of them mixed together," says Beetee.

Anya nods, lays down, and shrugs.

"Go ahead," she says, and she taps the button in her hand that activates the drug that knocks her out. Beetee produces a box and I peer at the contents. Hypodermic needles in individual metal boxes.

"Haymitch, you're going to do the gold one first, Boggs, you'll do the black one," says Beetee.

He fills one syringe with the gold stuff and hands it to me. He repeats the process with the black liquid and passes it to Boggs.

"Gold on my count," says Beetee, "three… two… one… NOW."

I hate having to stick Anya with the needle, but I watch the gold liquid seep into her skin.

"Now you, Boggs. Quickly!" says Beetee.

Boggs injects her with the black liquid.

We wait and watch Beetee mix the right amount of black and gold together. He hands me the needle.

"Go in five… four… three… two… one… NOW."

This time, Anya seems to _glow _as I stick her with the needle. She doesn't wake up though, and Beetee gets rid of the needles and then wheels back over to us.

"Now, we wait."

"Now we wait," I echo.

xXxXx

**Anyarose**

I don't remember anything from my drug-induced sleep this time. All I know is that when I wake, the voice is gone. When I call out to it, it doesn't reply. I'm alone in my mind, and the foggy unbalance of the bipolar is gone.

Boggs, Haymitch, and Beetee are all staring at me expectantly, so I grin at them. They return the grin, relief and success wide on their faces.

"I have to help Katniss now," I say.

They stare at me and I blink, amused.

"Seriously?"

"I _am _part of the Mockingjay Squad. I have to train, don't I?" I pout.

The men grin at me.

"She's fine," says Beetee.

And he's right. I _am _fine. I feel better than I have in _ages. _Years, perhaps.

Now I can truly focus on the war.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Kind of a filler chapter this time, a writing tool to get rid of some of Anya's mental illnesses. So, just to recap; she's not bipolar or schizophrenic anymore. Turns out she wasn't schizophrenic anyway, it was a Capitol drug. Thank GOD for Beetee!<em>

_Next chapter we see some action. Woo-oo._

_Review, or no update. _

_Neve._


	29. Chapter 29: Never Let Me Go

**The Lost Tribute ch 29**

_Hello! Here's chapter 29, and then this story is going on a short break. Because, review levels have dropped, and that makes me sad, and I'm a review fisher. :P_

_So, yeah. Get me to 70 – 75 reviews, then I'll update :P_

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

_Thunk! _

The knife smacks into the target, and I wrench it out again, narrowly avoiding cutting my hand. It's basic training, stuff I used to do when dossing about in the woods back in Twelve. Boggs is observing, taking note of how many times I hit the targets, how many times I miss.

I think he's assessing me for combat. I keep getting distracted by Haymitch, who's also training on the other side of the weaponry room. He's lost a lot of weight, and has regained his muscular physique from when we were teenagers. One of the younger recruits, a guy in his early twenties, starts talking to Haymitch.

The conversation quickly turns hostile. Boggs doesn't notice, but I do, forcing myself to put the knife back into my belt. The other guy, Williams, has a cocky expression on his face. Something about that looks makes me distrust him immensely. I sidle over.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

"Yo, Abernathy!" it's that cocky, arrogant, twenty-something-year-old bastard, Williams. He comes over, twirling nunchuks between his fingers with ease. He reminds me of that arrogant bastard from my Games, Conquest.

"What, Williams?" I'm quite confident I could take him out.

Williams grins, swinging the nunchuks.

"Rumor has it you left your girl," he says nonchalantly.

I resist the urge to punch him _right _on the jaw.

"Didn't take you as being one for the gossip, Williams," I reply flatly.

Williams remains unfazed.

"Mind if I talk to her?" he asks, smirking.

"Depends. Mind if I break your legs?" I say through clenched teeth.

It's as if Anya senses when I'm moments away from giving somebody a good pounding , because at that moment, she appears beside me, resting one of her hands on my shoulder in a warning.

"Men and their arrogance. Your tempers…" she says, perfectly calm, diffusing all the tension easily. Williams looks ashamed of himself. Good.

"Sorry, Ma'am," he says, and he slinks away.

Anya turns to me, eyebrows raised, silently demanding an explanation.

I explain the situation and she smirks.

"That _is _an ego boost," she says, smirk widening at the irritable look that crosses my face.

Before I can say anything though, she's kissing me and any retaliation I had is lost.

God damn it.

Anya reads my thoughts, it seems, because she smirks against my lips and wraps her arms around my neck. Well. Two can play that game. I pull her against my chest and kiss her in a way that is most likely not publicly acceptable. When she pulls away, she's blushing and her lips are all swollen from our kiss.

"_Meet me in our room in fifteen minutes,_" she whispers, and then she dances off, replacing her belt of knives in the armoury on her way out.

Boggs waits til she's gone before he approaches me. Oh, shit. Wrath of the over-protective foster father.

"You're gonna have to go for something more permanent if you want to keep her, you know," says Boggs. I catch on right away and grin.

"Aren't you meant to be _discouraging _me from marrying your daughter?" I ask, smirking.

Boggs grins. "She's not my biological daughter. I want her to be happy. She's only alive when she's with you."

I shrug. "She'll say no. Marriage isn't Anya's thing."

"People change, Abernathy. If you haven't realised that, then you're a fool. Seriously – tie the two of you together in any way possible. I mean it. Else you may just lose her."

Boggs isn't screwing around. He's got a point, that's for sure.

"Guess I gotta ask your permission, then?" I say, oddly nervous.

"Damn straight, Abernathy," Boggs says, smirking. Git. He's enjoying this.

Goddamn. I've survived the Hunger Games, and I'm feeling awkward and nervous about asking Boggs – a guy who's only seven or eight years older than me – whether I can marry his foster daughter, a girl I've known my entire life.

"I don't have much," I say, and it's true. I mean, sure, I'm rich, but so is Anya. I'm a drunk, and I'm physically older than her now, "but I love her. And as long as I live, that's never gonna change. I love your daughter, Sir, and I will cherish,protect, and love her until the day I die. So, I ask for your permission and your blessing, to ask for her hand in marriage."

I wait for a minute, expecting some smart arse comment from Boggs. Instead, he shakes my hand, and says, "You make good on that promise, Abernathy."

"I will, Sir." I say.

He grins at me then and says, "Well go on then!"

I go. I have to find Anya.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

I've taken a shower, changed out of my filthy training clothes, and into my grey dress from Twelve, and I'm just sitting down when Haymitch comes in.

"Hey. You okay?" I ask, because he looks nervous as hell about something.

"You know what I've realised, Anya?" he says, but he doesn't give me time to guess before he goes on, "People like us, you and me, Victors, we don't get much good in our lives. So when something good – more than good – comes along, we have to take it and never let it go."

I stand up, and he crosses the room to me and takes my hands.

"And, for me, Anya, you're one of the only good things I have left – hell, maybe even the _only _good thing. And I don't want to let you go, ever."

I think I'm crying – tears of happiness, because this is quite possibly the most romantic thing Haymitch has ever said to me.

"Anyarose, I promise, I will love you, protect you, cherish you, and never leave your side. Will you marry me, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks, down on one knee in front of me.

_Oh my God!_

"Yes," I breathe, "Yes, Haymitch, I will marry you."

And then he stands, sweeping me into his arms and kissing me deeply.

We don't break apart for a very long time.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>I know, short chapter, mostly dialogue. Sorry! Who saw the engagement coming?<em>

_Next chapter, if and when I update, will be more Katniss-centered._

_But, it is an update, and the last one you're getting until I get to 70 (or maybe 75) reviews, because I feel like I'm lagging behind in reviews. Don't know if this is because nobody reads this or whether you're just lazy, but anonymous reviews _are _on! :P_

_So get reviewing!_

_Please. _

_Love,_

_Neve._


	30. Chapter 30: Army Of Me

**The Lost Tribute ch 30**

_Hello! We did it, we got to 75 reviews! Next update is at 85. :D_

_I have some good news in my end note! _

_Please, please review. It means so much, especially when I'm going through tough times with emotional illness/issues and stuff. :S _

_So, please review. _

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Katniss<strong>

I am woken by someone dumping a pitcher of water over my head. Spluttering and cursing, I sit bolt upright and discover that I fell asleep in my clothes. Again.

The source of the water is easily discovered – a terracotta pitcher, which lays on its side on the floor. As for who threw it, that's a no brainer as well. Haymitch and Anya are standing by the door, snickering and smirking like it's the funniest thing they've ever seen. Knowing them, and the dull ness that Thirteen provides, it most likely _is _the funniest thing they've seen in a while. I've barely spoken to Haymitch since I clawed his face and he snubbed my on-camera speaking skills, despite how awful they truly are.

"What do you two want?" I grumble, and they snicker again.

"If it's nothing good, you can go away," I inform them. My antisocial behavior at the moment knows absolutely no bounds.

"Ooh, but this _is _interesting!" says Anya gleefully.

Oh dear lord.

"Okay. Out with it. You're pregnant, aren't you?" I demand.

Anya laughs but grimaces.

"That'd be a fine chance, seeing as, thanks to the Capitol and their drugs, I'm roughly 85 percent infertile." Anya says bitterly.

Add that to the list of problems Anya's had.

It's as if she reads my mind, because she says,

"Add 'Meth Mutt' to the list, won't you?"

I grimace. "What's a Meth Mutt?"

"Someone whose body has been so screwed up by drugs, by choice or by force, that you're almost a Mutt. I think, with a Morphling addiction, and all the age-freezing drugs, and all the anti-schizophrenia drugs, that I count. Don't you?" Anya laughs, but it's a bitter laugh.

I decided to prompt her away from the bitter thoughts she's hanging onto.

"So, what were you going to tell me?" I ask.

Anya and Haymitch smile at me, all bitterness fading from Anya's face when I mention that.

"Well,' says Haymitch, and it's the first time I've seen him struggle to be articulate.

Anya rolls her eyes.

"We're getting married," she says, her entire body seeming to _glow _with radiated joy and serenity.

I grin, a proper grin for the first time since we arrived in Thirteen.

My mentors are getting married. Just as I'm about to say 'congratulations', the communicating devices that both Anya and Haymitch carry start to beep incessantly.

"Dammit," Anya curses softly, "They're running low on pilots. They need me down in the hangar."

Haymitch looks up from the message on his device.

"I'm needed in communications – wait. Low on pilots? There is no _way _you're flying a plane!"

It's amusing to watch them bicker.

"I'll be fine," says Anya, "It's only a little bomber plane."

Haymitch looks like he's about to have an aneurism. Or a heart attack. Or perhaps both.

"You're _definitely _not going." He says.

Anya rolls her eyes, kisses him on the cheek, and darts off before he can make a grab for her. Haymitch glowers after her and then turns to me.

"You. Get your ass out here, now. Coin wanted you to come to Command too."

The way Haymitch says 'Command' through clenched teeth and the way he snarls the name of Thirteen's president tells me that he isn't happy with the decision to send Anya off in a bomber plane. I decide I sure wouldn't like to be the person who made that call.

xXxXx

When we walk into Command, Coin is watching a large screen which depicts a small fleet of bombers zooming towards the Capitol. Wordlessly, the president hands Haymitch a headset.

"It's linked to her. She's doing very well." Coin says, pointing to the plane flying to the left of the point of the squad.

"That's Boggs, on point." Coin adds, "That's why we sent her."

Haymitch grumbles something about not sending her in the first place.

I wonder if he ever got quite so hissy about half the dangerous missions I embarked on. Probably not, I decide. We watch the squad drop bombs on the outer Capitol, which has, for most part,been evacuated.

A voice comes through, scratchy over the intercom, but still recognizable.

"_This is bomber squad six-three-two, requesting permission to bomb the Capitol hospital. Over."_

Anya's plane is heading towards the Capitol's hospital.

"Six-three-two, this is Command. Do you read? Over." Coin responds.

"_Loud and clear, ma'am. This is Soldier River, requesting permission to search and destroy," _Anya's voice comes through the speakers.

For a moment, there is silence, as Coin deliberates.

"Burn it to the ground, River."

There is no mercy in her gaze or voice as she gives the order. As the Mockingjay, I feel like I should be doing something to prevent that, but the Capitol without a hospital is a weakened city.

"_Roger that, ma'am." _Anya's voice is equally as cold and I realize why they chose her for this mission. After all the things the Capitol has put Anya through, she is no longer capable of mercy towards the people there. She is, in the case of war, a killing machine. Like a Career.

"Who put the Meth Mutt in a plane?" someone mumbles from the back of the room. There is a dull _thud _that I would be willing to bet was Haymitch's fist connecting with the comment-maker's face. Good.

We watch the explosion in slow motion as Anya's plane hovers almost above the hospital. We see the bomb drop out of the plane, see Anya gun the engine of her plane to get the hell out of the way just as the bomb hits.

The sound of the explosion through the speakers threatens to deafen me. We watch the Capitol hospital dissolve to rubble before our eyes. I hear the whoops and shouts of the others in the room, I hear Coin telling Haymitch that perhaps Anya has uses here after all.

Me? I stand there, wondering whether there was a point to the bombings of the Capitol.

"Did you do anything to her mind?" Haymitch asks Beetee, who shakes his head.

"Nope. But sending Anya into armed combat against the Capitol directly is playing on her hatred for that city and the people in it." Beetee says.

Oh, lovely. They've turned one of my mentors into a war weapon.

"What if there were children in there?" I say. I'm not too sure where that came from.

Haymitch shrugs. "What's a few Capitol kids in comparison to nearly two thousand District kids?" he asks, voice cold and uncaring.

I flinch and occupy myself with watching the big screens. The bomber jets are flying back to Thirteen now. That means there will be, more than likely, work for me to do.

"Suit up, Mockingjay. You've got a Propo to film on the surface of Thirteen," says Coin in her usual clipped, detached manner.

Fantastic. I slope off to suit up, though I end up wandering down to the hangar and being there when the bomber jet squad returns. Anya grins at me when she hauls herself out of her plane.

"How you doing, Katniss?" she asks, tossing her helmet aside.

I shrug. "Got assigned new Propos," I say.

Anya pulls a face. "Ugh. Still, at least it's relatively safe."

The doors open and Plutarch practically _bounces _into the hangar.

"Anya, can you please refrain from getting blown up _before _you get married?" he asks, clapping his hands together.

Anya smirks wryly. "I can try."

"Thank you." Plutarch says, "else all our plans will be wasted."

"What a shame," says Anya sardonically.

"Plans?" I say, as I suit up.

Anya rolls her eyes. "We put Plutarch in charge of wedding arrangements."

I stare at her. "_Why_?" I exclaim.

Anya shrugs. "I'm beginning to wonder the same thing."

I grimace. "You coming to the surface?" I ask.

Anya gestures her uniform, and I realize for the first time that there's a belt of knives strapped to her waist.

"Some explode, some are flammable, some are poisoned, some are ordinary," she explains, grabbing a machine gun off the wall.

"So you're my guard?" I grin.

Anya grins back. "Sure."

xXxXx

We get to the surface and Haymitch is yammering on in my ear through the damn earpiece.

"Oh, shut up, Haymitch," I grumble. He guffaws at me.

Anya wanders over to me, a sympathetic look on her face.

"Let's just get this over with, hey?" she says.

I nod, and turn to the others.

Showtime.

xXxXx

* * *

><p><em>Next chapter is Anya's POV when she blows up the Capitol hospital.<em>

_Good news guys! I'm working on my own, non-fanfiction, novel! Whee-oop! If you're interested, that would be super good! :D just thought I'd share my joy at becoming a 'real' author with everyone._

_Please review this chapter!_

_Neve_


	31. Chapter 31: Big Jet Plane

**The Lost Tribute ch 31**

_Yey. New chapter. Are you happy guys?_

_Yey. Sorry if I'm behaving a bit erratically at the moment. I am a tad crazy and this is one of the few things keeping me from going completely mad. So. Without further ado or whinging, here's chapter 31._

_Oh, yeah, I forgot to do this. _I do not own the Hunger Games. I only own Anya and certain elements of this story. The rest belongs to the fabulous Suzanne Collins. :D

_Neve._

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose<strong>

When I get down to the hangar, it's to find my sort-of-foster-father Boggs waiting.

"Suit up," he says, "We've got work to do."

I grimace. I don't really feel comfortable going up in the air in a jet plane, bombing the shit out of whatever we're ordered to.

Boggs reads my mind – or rather, my expression – and grimaces.

"I know you haven't gone up in a plane before, Anya, but we _need _competent fliers. Something tells me you'd be good at this." Boggs says.

I frown. "Alright."

I suit up in pilot gear. I haven't flown anything smaller than the stolen hovercraft. This could be highly interesting.

"How are you feeling, kiddo?" Boggs asks.

"Shitting myself," I say, making the other guys – they're _all _guys – on my squad guffaw.

Boggs scowls and I wonder for a second whether he's going to tell me off for my language.

"Go on, Captain, give her a nickname!" one of the guys hollers.

"Shuddup, Rabbit," someone else hoots.

Someone else whistles crassly. "First time we ever got a girly on our squad."

"That's not a girl. That's Abernathy's girl. The Meth Mutt, guys, remember?" another guy guffaws.

My desire to kick all their asses and then outfly them in the jet planes overtakes me for a moment until Boggs says,

"Enough, guys, or I'll have you all locked in Sol Con for a week. Clear?"

"Yessir," the others echo, even the ones who didn't speak about me.

"Also, her nickname is River. No exceptions." Boggs adds.

Good. Just a shortening of my surname, _Riverstream. _

We all get into the planes, and I grimace at the controls. They're simple enough, but I can almost _feel _the heavy weight of the bombs.

"_Remember what they've done to you,_" I hear Boggs saying.

He's right. He's entirely right. I gun the engine of the jet plane.

xXxXx

The arrogance of the men in my squad seems to evaporate as soon as we fly over the Capitol hospital. Nobody seems interested in blowing it up anymore. So in the end, it is I who sends a message back to Thirteen, requesting permission to blow it up.

I wait for nearly two minutes, circling slowly. Then Coin's voice comes through the system.

"Burn it to the ground, River."

I do just that. I can hear the whistle of the bomb as it drops, the roar of the jet plane engine as I swoop out of harm's way. The _boom _as the Capitol Hospital is destroyed.

I watch it burn.

xXxXx

It seems to take forever to get back to Thirteen.

I bury my guilt deep down, so I won't have to face it. When I finally get back, stagger out of my jet plane, I'm greeted by Katniss Everdeen, who informs me of the new Propos that Coin has commissioned.

_Great. Looks like I'm on guard duty, _I think to myself, as we go down to weaponry.

xXxXx

Haymitch nags on and on at me through my earpiece as we go up to the surface. Eventually, I disconnect the little technological chip in my ear.

Katniss holds a hand to her ear, wincing. Haymitch is no doubt shouting in her ear, trying to get her to get me to re-connect the earpiece.

"Hey, Anya?" Katniss calls.

_What did I tell you?_

"Haymitch says to 'put that fucking earpiece back in _right now _before I have you fitted with a head shackle' – his words, not mine," Katniss repeats what Haymitch tells her.

"Tell him to sod off." I grumble, hitching my machine gun onto my shoulder and scowling. It's just the surface of Thirteen. No big deal.

Whilst the others shoot the Propos, I sit on a rock and contemplate shooting the trees. Eventually, I just toy with one of my knives, flipping it up into the air and catching it, all whilst watching for enemies. It's rather uneventful.

xXxXx

I get back down under ground, and immediately, I am struck by the homey claustrophobia that comes with Thirteen. I decide that, right now, even though he's probably pissed at me, I _really _need Haymitch.

I hurry on off to Command in search of him, where I find him outside, arguing with Plutarch. It's a heated discussion, but I think it can wait for a moment. I barrel into Haymitch, wrapping my arms around him. I'm still too thin, I realise with a start.

For a second, I wonder if he'll push me away. But then I feel his arms around me, his lips at my neck. He always did kiss me in a way that was totally unsuitable for public display.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay. I love you," he whispers back, kissing me tenderly.

"I love you too," I smile.

He doesn't let me go, as if he's afraid I'll disappear if he does.

Knowing me, I probably would.

xXxXx

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><p><em>Hello again! I know it's been a while, and it's a short chapter. I'm putting this up for you now, but I won't be updating this story anymore. I haven't decided whether it's on hiatus or abandoned yet. But nobody seems to be reading it, or reviewing it as regularly.<em>

_So, if you want it to be abandoned or go on hiatus, just carry on ignoring me. If not, let me know, hmm?_

_Neve._


	32. Chapter 32: We Want War

**The Lost Tribute ch 32**

_Hello, everyone. _

_Yesterday, I posted an author note saying that I was discontinuing The Lost Tribute and wouldn't be going any further, etc. In response to that post, I was FLOODED with messages, reviews, and emails, and I realized that hey, maybe some people actually _do _read this story. So, in response to all this, I've decided that __**there is no way I will be abandoning this story. **__I intend to finish it, even though it gets difficult at times because the way my mind works. So. Anyway. _

_Thank you so much to everyone, especially _Savysnape7 _for the HEAP of reviews and messages._

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose Soldier River**

I am preparing myself for a shit-storm of epic proportions as I walk along to too-clean corridors of Thirteen towards Command. I don't really know what I've done to cause said shit-storm. Perhaps I'm over-thinking again.

When the doors to Command open and I step into the room, I find myself face to face with President Coin. We usually agree to disagree, but recently, we seem to have reached some sort of mutual understanding. All I had to do to get to that point was blow up the Capitol Hospital. Nothing major or anything.

"Soldier River. Sit down, please."

Oh right, did I mention that everyone over fourteen is addressed as 'Soldier'? And that, because nobody can actually be bothered with my last name (it's changing in a few days anyway), they just call me River, the first half of my surname.

I do as she asks, and sit.

"It has been decided that tonight, whilst the Mockingjay is still drugged up, we will send a small group of soldiers out to the Capitol to rescue Peeta Mellark, Annie Cresta, and Johanna Mason, as well as any others we can reach." Coin's tone makes it perfectly clear that she considers this entire operation to be a waste of time, and would much rather put her best soldiers to better uses.

I get a sinking feeling. She's going to send me.

"This is a strictly voluntary mission. General Boggs and Soldier Hawthorne have already volunteered. I forbid Haymitch from going though, we need him here to keep the Mockingjay from losing the plot entirely." Coin says calmly, and then waits for my response.

"Okay," I say, "What are the risks?"

Coin looks surprised, but folds her hands together on the desk and addresses me neutrally, as if discussing the weather, rather than the multiple ways that I could die.

"You will be going to the very heart of the Capitol, the Prison of Panem. Although you will be heavily armed and protected by a large squad of backup soldiers, the risk is still high. There will be losses. On _both _sides," she says the last part with a hint of venom in her tone.

I consider this. I've been to the Prison of Panem once, the upper levels, which are the lowest security. It's not a place that holds fond memories. But Peeta, Annie, and Johanna need our help. Oh, what the hell.

"Count me in." I say.

"Are you sure, River?" Coin asks.

"Positive. No point wasting all that extortionate amount of money on this op if you don't have half decent people on the squad," I grin.

Coin rolls her eyes at my arrogance.

"Off you go, then," she says. I stand, salute, and head for the door.

"Oh, and River?" she calls after me.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Try not to get yourself killed."

I grin and scarper.

xXxXx

**Haymitch / General Abernathy**

I'm really starting to panic by the time they call me to Command. I can't find Anya anywhere, and the squad going to the Capitol has left.

I'm starting to worry she went with them. When I get to Command, I automatically realize that this is the case.

"Why," I begin, remarkably calm, "do you always feel the need to send Anya into combat _without _telling me first?"

Coin, also calm, gives a half shrug, "Because you'd find excuses for her. She's one of our best."

I am amused by this – I was under the impression Coin didn't really like Anya that much.

"So, how can I talk you out of sending her?"

"They've already gone."

I don't rage and storm. To be honest, that won't do anyone any favors. I just give Coin a scathing look and stalk off to the infirmary. God knows Katniss is going to be in a bad way when she wakes up. To be honest, I can't be dealing with her, not now, but I'm her Mentor. It's my job.

To forget all my fucked-up problems, and focus on her. To keep her alive. That's my job. But it's also my job, my _reason _to keep going, to stay sober half the time, to keep Anya safe.

I'm all she's got, and she's all I have.

By letting her slip away again, to the heart of enemy lines, I feel as though I have failed her.

xXxXx

**Katniss / Soldier Everdeen / Mockingjay**

When I open my eyes, first thing I see is Haymitch, which isn't exactly a welcome sight. He looks god-awful, his dirty blonde hair more of a mess than usual, and he's completely sober. Those grey Seam eyes stare at me. No. _Through _me.

That means one of two things; either he's beating himself up about something, or Anya's dead. Probably the first one.

"They're getting Peeta out. Annie too, and Johanna if they can manage it," Haymitch says.

I consider this. "Why?"

"A broken Mockingjay's no use to them. It's costly, but they've got the elite onto it. Volunteer only. Coin ignored me waving my hand in the air," Haymitch says, bitingly sarcastic.

"Who's gone?" I ask, though I have a feeling I know.

"Gale."

"Who else?" I demand. Who else is sacrificing so much for me?

"Boggs. Anya. A few others." Haymitch says heavily.

I sigh. "I'll go with them."

Haymitch shakes his head. "Too late. They left hours ago."

I scowl. "We could still make it!" I exclaim.

"No." Haymitch's voice is forceful, "we're staying put. No exceptions."

I scowl, wondering if cursing him, shouting, or demanding will help me at all. Probably not, I decide. All I can do is wait for them to get back, all of them alive hopefully.

"Stay put," says Haymitch, and he stands, "I need some air."

He goes without waiting for an answer. Me? I doze off again into a restless sleep, dreaming of Peeta.

xXxXx

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><p><em>Woo! Update!<em>

_Next chapter covers the rescue of Peeta, Annie, and Johanna. :D_

_Please review! Let's get to 100!_

_Neve_


	33. Chapter 33: Out Of The Dungeon

**The Lost Tribute ch 33**

_Hello everyone! You guys did it! You got this story to 100 reviews! Thank you so, so much to everyone who has gotten us this far. My disorders aren't playing up too much, so I figured I'd update. I'm actually sitting in a lecture, supposed to be doing something on eco systems and such, but oh well. My excuse? I'm Irish, and this story is my baby. :D _

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose  Soldier River**

It's a scary feeling, suiting up in protective gear, in the knowledge that if someone _really _wanted me dead, it wouldn't take much effort to do it. Although I wear armour, every Soldier has their flaw, and mine is that I'm small and fast. Which means anything the Capitol sends after me will be bigger and faster.

That isn't a comforting thought.

If it wasn't for Haymitch, I wouldn't even be bothering too much to stay alive. I am a soldier, trained since I was a child, really, although my 'training' was crude and rudimentary – knife throwing, fire making, how to shoot.

Since we arrived in Thirteen, I've had professional training. I'm faster and deadlier than before, but that makes me even more of a target. I didn't begin training right away when we arrived here. I was too sick to even leave my room half the time. Not physically sick, but mentally.

I had stifling Clinical Bipolar, Schizophrenia, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They managed to cure the first two when they realised the main cause was half the drugs the Capitol shot me up with when I 'lived' there for 25 years. The PTSD is harder, but I can manage. Sort of.

It takes an excruciating effort each and every day just to hold onto myself, to keep myself from tipping over the edge and losing myself.

I try and stay strong for one reason, and one alone: Haymitch.

I have known Haymitch all my life. He and I grew up together, went to school together, fell in love. We went to the Hunger Games together, and teamed up to win. Unfortunately, shortly after, the President decided to feign my death and hold me prisoner in the Capitol as punishment for Haymitch's stunt with the force field.

But we're together now. Well. We were. Chances are, I'm going to die soon. We're heading to the Capitol, a small squad of elite and a large swarm of backup foot soldiers, to break into the Prison of Panem, and rescue Peeta Mellark, Annie Cresta, and Johanna Mason. Maybe some others, if we can manage it. It was a strictly voluntary mission. Gale Hawthorne volunteered at once. Of course he did. Being separated from Peeta is _killing _Katniss slowly, and Gale can't stand to see her in agony. Or perhaps he just wants to play heroes again. The other 'elite' to first volunteer was General Boggs, a man in his late forties who has become sort of a foster father to me.

Technically, I'm in my early forties, but the Capitol shot me up with an anti-aging drug that has frozen my body at twenty five. They think that when I am technically eighty, I will look fifty.

That is, if I live that long. Alma Coin, the president of Thirteen, told me about this op. Told me the risks too. I just laughed and said 'Sign me up'.

So here I am.

The Hangar of Thirteen is fast becoming one of my most frequent haunts. Boggs hands me a gun. Several, actually, and whilst my arms are weighed down by them, he straps belts around my torso and attaches my belt of knives.

"I could have done that," I grumble.

Boggs shrugs, clips the guns on, and then says, "Okay, you're all set."

I grimace, because I am _not _all set.

"We're leaving in half an hour." He informs me, and then goes off to check on the foot soldiers.

I pace for a moment before I remember what I wanted to do. I was going to write a letter to Haymitch, just in case I didn't make it back.

I find a corner, which isn't hard, keeping Boggs and my squad within eyesight.

I rummage in my backpack, which is heavy, almost as heavy as the one I had in the Games. Producing a notebook and a pen, I start to write.

_Haymitch,_

_If you're reading this, then the inevitable has happened and we've been separated. I know I once told you that wouldn't happen, but I can't promise everything. _

_Please don't hate me for the choices I have made. I would much rather die trying to bring Peeta back to Katniss than any other way. There is so much to say, and so very little time, because I am writing this _before _we leave, lest I don't get the chance later on. _

I have to stop for a minute to swipe furiously at the traitor tears.

_Oh, god, I can't do this. This is the hardest letter I've ever written. Just know that I love you, Haymitch, and I always will, even in death._

_Love always,_

_Your crazy little Anya._

_X_

I seal the letter and sneak off to put it in our room, right in the middle of our bed.

With my job done, I jog back down to the Hangar, a damn big effort considering I'm weighed down by my pack and weapons, taking shortcuts and side corridors to avoid anyone I don't want to see. Like Haymitch.

I make it back to the hangar and Boggs double checks my weapons. He doesn't ask where I've been. I guess he thinks Haymitch and I had some sappy, tragic farewell.

If only.

I'm too fucking cowardly to say goodbye with spoken word, because I know that if I go to him, he won't let me go, and I won't be able to leave him.

"You okay, River?" Boggs asks as we get into the hovercraft. It's one of the big ones, 'cause it holds us all – our squad and our small army.

"Sure," I shrug, though I'm _not _okay. I have to stay strong though, because a screwed mindset equals death, there's no doubt about it.

Boggs drills us on what is expected of us, and then they put us in touch with Command. I listen, because I have to. It's the usual shit; do as you're told, yes-sir, no-sir, three-bags-full-sir.

Finally, we reach the wilderness surrounding the Capitol.

"This is it, kiddo," says Boggs, and he claps me on the shoulder as we all trudge off the craft.

He's right. This _is _it. As I watch the hovercraft disappear into the sky, it hits me, hard, like a fist to the face, that there is no going back now.

When I return to Thirteen, I will either be alive, or in a wooden box.

It's not a pleasant thought.

xXxXx

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><p><em>Hi guys! Short chapter, but it's an update. Next chapter is more action, more kick-ass, and more rescuing. In other news, <em>we got over **100 reviews! **_Thank you so much!_

_I do have a little nit-pick though. _

_If you're going to review, _**leave constructive criticism. Please do not tell me how to write my own story. If something is a certain way, it is because I intended for it to be. **

_Please do not tell me to go back and change things, make my characters have more emotion, because plenty of people have already told me that I'm doing just fine. Also, don't write paragraphs for me to insert, because I find that a little upsetting, especially seeing as I have worked very, very hard on this story. _

_Please do not tell me that by Reaping Anya, I was being cliché and stupid, because, I'm sorry, but that's where this entire story kicks off from – Haymitch and Anya being reaped. _

_So, on that note, I leave you with chapter 33 in a rather upset mood._

_~ Neve_


	34. Chapter 34: ATTENTION

**The Lost Tribute ch 34**

_Hey guys! Here's an update for you. Bad news at the end of the chapter I'm afraid._

_Neve_

* * *

><p><strong>Anyarose  Soldier River**

We make camp in the wilderness, setting up teams to go on watch. It's okay, though, because none of us sleep. We all lie there, under the stars, waiting in silence for an attack that never comes.

xXxXx

Dawn comes and we move along the tunnels into the Capitol stealthily. Well. As stealthily as you _can _go when you've got a squad of three elite soldiers and fifty men as your backup.

The tunnels are dark and claustrophobic, and I hate them. Boggs laughs at me when I start to complain in a very soldierly manner. It's clear as we move closer towards the Capitol that I'm _really _not cut out for this crap. The sight of the end of the tunnel is enough to get me freezing up.

"I can't go back," I tell Boggs in an urgent whisper.

My squad leader turns to me, and in the dim light of the tunnels I can make out the _are-you-fucking-kidding-me-River? _look on his face.

"Are you fucking kidding me, River?" Boggs hisses out loud.

I shrug, back up a little, and nearly collide with a couple of our backup squad. I turn to look, using the light on my gun as a torch. Fuck. There's no _way _I'm getting through that crowd. I'm stuck. I turn back to Boggs who has a grim look on his face.

"There's no going back, Anya. We told you it was suicide."

I swallow the shriek that I know is about to make an appearance.

I square my shoulders and turn to Boggs.

"Let's get this over with."

XxXxX

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><p><em>Ugh. I'm so uninspired with this story.<em>

_Probably won't even continue it._

_I'm open to ideas. Prompt me. _

_Or I can just ditch it. I'll probably ditch it._


	35. Chapter 35: The Return

**The Lost Tribute ch 35**

_Wow. It's been months since I updated, and I'm sorry. I've been so ill and busy that I haven't had the time. I've been uninspired too, so I decided to pick up from when the rescue team gets _back _to Thirteen with Peeta and Annie and Johanna. :)_

_I hope this is good, I will try so hard to finish this story!_

* * *

><p><strong>Haymitch<strong>

They arrive back in one piece. All of them. A couple of guys carry Annie Cresta. Johanna is laid out on a stretcher, pale, her hair shaved off. I dread to think what they've done to her. I turn, looking for Boggs and Anya. They come charging through, half-carrying, half-dragging an unconscious form between them. Peeta, I realise. He's not passed out either; he's been sedated.

"What's going on?" I call to Anya, but she just shakes her head and barrels past, doing her damn best to keep up with Boggs. They drag Peeta off to the infirmary, and I trail behind after them, wishing to god I had a bottle of booze on hand.

Xxxxx

**Anya**

We make a mad dash for the infirmary. They have a couple of locked down rooms just down the hallway from the main infirmary and that's where we're headed. Boggs is almost jogging, and I know instantly why. It isn't that Peeta is in any danger. It's the fact that we want him tied down and locked in _before _he wakes up and tries to kill us all again. Haymitch hurries along behind us, asking what in Panem is going on. But I can't explain. We have to work quickly, because if Peeta wakes up, he's more than likely going to try to strangle me again. I tug at my shirt collar with one hand self-consciously. There will likely be a bruise there, but that's not the most important thing right now. We reach the locked down area and heave Peeta onto the bed, and start strapping him down. Haymitch silently helps, though he is practically _radiating _frustration. We triple check the bindings and then move aside to allow the medical team in. We form a silent vigil, Haymitch, Boggs and I, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for a verdict. Haymitch seethes, Boggs paces, I bite my nails.

"He's been Hijacked." Beetee provides by way of explanation less than an hour later.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Haymitch growls. He's lost all patience.

"It means the Capitol has re-arranged some of his memories so that he thinks that we, or more specifically, Katniss, is the enemy. I believe the cause is Tracker Jacker venom." Beetee says patiently.

"So. You mean Peeta's gone?"

"I'm not sure yet. Perhaps we should get Katniss in here, just to see the extent of the damage." Beetee suggests.

And so we do. It all seems like a brilliant idea, until Peeta starts trying to strangle her. A couple of guys manage to get him away from Katniss but she's already passed out on the floor. Another medical team comes to take her to intensive care.

"What does this mean?" I ask Beetee under my breath, keeping my voice lowered so the others don't hear.

"I'm afraid we've lost him, for now. We can try to get him back, but it will take a long time, and there is a fifty-fifty chance it won't work at all." Beetee says.

"We have to try!" I exclaim.

"I know. And trust me, we will. Go to Katniss now, she needs you more than Peeta does."

I do as Beetee says and go off to find Katniss, my mind reeling. We've saved Peeta, or so I thought, but was there really any point if he isn't himself?

I'm left to ponder this as I make my way into Katniss's room.

X

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><p><em>Hey! Finally, an update! Please review!<em>


	36. Chapter 36: UPDATE AND IMPORTANT STUFF

IMPORTANT UPDATE:

THIS STORY WILL BE UPDATED AND REWORKED OVER ON A03 UNDER MY NEW PENNAME/PSUED.

REFER TO MACS_BABY_GIRL ON A03.

THIS STORY WILL REMAIN POSTED ON THIS SITE, BECAUSE I LOVE AND APPRECIATE ALL THE SUPPORT AND REVIEWS IT HAS RECIEVED. I AM WORKING TO MAKE IT BETTER, TIE UP PLOT HOLES, AND GENERALLY JUST MAKE IT BETTER AND LESS... FAR FETCHED, I GUESS? THE BASIC ELEMENTS AND MAIN STORY WILL REMAIN BUT I HOPE TO IMPROVE IT AND SPRUCE IT UP.

I LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING Y'ALL THERE!

- NS 


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